He's a Hamish
by Aurora-swan
Summary: Sherlock turnes out to be pregnant and he's not happy about it until John makes him change his mind. Things works out fine the months to come. At lest until John wants to pack a hospital bag while Sherlock has other plans. John deliverers a baby in their own bedroom. Mpreg, parentlock, fluffy fluff, childbirth. Now with a chapter where Hamish gets a little sibling.
1. Chapter 1

**After some requests I sat down and wrote a mpreg. I never thought I would, but I did. Yes...**

**So if this is not your area and you find this repulsive, turn back now! **

**Otherwise, I enjoyed writing it. It was fun and interesting. And here you go. **

* * *

It was a happy accident, as John so nicely put it at start. 1 out of 3000 of the males had the ability to get knocked up and of course, like the detective wasn't freaky enough in other peoples eyes, he was one of them.

It had started with the usual signs, morning sickness, which of course was more of a hour long of dry heaving over the toilet with an empty stomach. Cold sweating and shuddering with his John behind him, with the role as a doctor brought forward but kind as his boyfriend. They thought it was the flue and John forbid him from leaving the flat for a couple of weeks. The flesh melted off his bones at start. Cheekbones getting sharper as the hollows got deeper, skin got to another level of transparent and he was bluish grey. Lying on bathroom floor, panting, John started to worry that death was soon to be knocking upon their door when he finally brought him to the hospital. This was out of his hands.

Sherlock didn't take the news with as much excitement as John, who saw it like a wonderful miracle. That they had been blessed with the ability to create a child of their own. But Sherlock despited the little creature that had settled down in his abdomen and just waiting to rip him apart. He demanded an abortion.

When John heard those words, he turned almost as grey as Sherlock. Like life swept away from him and death, that had been standing outside their door waiting for Sherlock, had come for him instead. The light disappeared out of his eyes and he slumped down on the chair beside the hospital bed where Sherlock was checked in. Trapped with an IV in his arm due to his malnutrition.  
"Are... are you sure." John asked him with a voice that was so far away from his normal tone that made Sherlock feel like his heart was getting strangled by an iron claw. As long as they'd been together, John had always been talking about adopting or finding a surrogate and Sherlock had always been up for it. He wanted a child, and very much so. But this was different. The thought of going through many months of a little invader inside him that would put him off work, getting him into habits he didn't want to anticipate in, making him swell up and then force it's way out... It was just to much. The child was not the problem, he really wanted to be a father, but he just didn't want to go through with a pregnancy.

"I can't do it John." he breathed, staring into the tiles of the roof. Tears was welling up from his eyes but he couldn't cry. His mind wouldn't let him.

"Can't do what?" John asked and moved a closer to the bed. Took his hand into his and caressed his thumb back and forth over his knuckles that was about to be shoved out of his thin skin. There couldn't be a single percent of body fat left in the man. He explained it carefully, avoiding any spots that could break down his boyfriend further. He explained about all the thoughts and feelings, all the fears and to his surprise, the words he spoke brought the light back into John's eyes.

"Now you're just being silly." he said and wiped his falling tears and Sherlock closed his mouth. "You're telling me you want a child... but not our child?" The words struck him like a dagger in the chest and he mentally demanded his chin to stop it's trembling. "Isn't it worth it to go thought it? Just a couple of months? Think about everything else you'll be going through and not just the bad things." Tears was welling out of them both now. "The feeling of it kicking, moving around. You have a little life inside you Sherlock. A little you and me." Sherlock face bundled up as he spoke and John pulled him into a hug to comfort him. Just held him close, stroking his back and kiss his temple. "And you won't be doing it alone. I'll be there, always." They stayed like that, for hours it seemed and suddenly the little 'cell' inside him became so incredibly loved.

This wasn't like him at all. An emotional wrack who cried over anything. When the finally broke apart he fell into a fit of laughter of his amusing state of feelings. He felt ridiculous and cursed himself for being so open about his feelings. But John praised it, finally seeing the truth of the great Sherlock Holmes, unable to contain his emotions.

* * *

Yes, telling the closest. This was the hardest thing for the consulting detective. Well, truthfully they both found it a little odd to break the news. After all, it was an unusual condition Sherlock was in. The first in UK in twenty years according to Sherlock's research since many of the other males quickly got an abortion. He emailed the site to his brother before calling him, asked him to read it thoroughly. Two hours later he picked up the phone, he didn't want to look him in the eyes while he revealed the news.

"Oh little brother." he muttered in the phone and Sherlock could almost hear the roots of his hair being pulled from his scalp. "You're always getting yourself into the weirdest situations aren't you." All this he said before Sherlock had even opened his mouth, and he never did during this call. He hung up and returned to his microscope without a care in the world as it seemed, he never expected that much from his brother. But that night, the phone wouldn't stop calling, and Sherlock slapped John's hands every time they tried to grab the device.

"He probably just needed time to think it over." he said calmly and served him a mug of hot, steaming tea. "I'm sure he's calling to apologise."

"Why? He's thought were very clear according to the tone in his voice. Why would he change his mind." The specimen in the microscope was suddenly shadowed and he lifted his head to see John holding his finger over the little light. He smiled. Not just a normal smile.

"You did." he said and Sherlock opened his mouth for a comeback, but found his head blank of words. "Call him before he shows up." And Sherlock grabbed the phone. He didn't even have time to make the call before it rang for the sixteenth time and he answered with a sharp 'Yes'.

"Please forgive me brother." said a soft voice on the other side. Mycroft had soothed his nerves with a couple of glasses of fine whiskey, Sherlock could tell. "I was being rude." Sherlock just repeated his first word of this conversation. "It came as quite a shock. Is this what you want? Really?" The word was repeated again, only this time, so deep down in his chest he doubted that the microphone would pick it up. "Good for you you've got John." He nodded even if Mycroft couldn't see it.

"Yes, I've got John." he repeated and turned his gaze to the kitchen were his boyfriend tried to get the lighter to work so he could start the oven and he felt his lips curl into a smile.

"Congratulations brother. I am truly happy for you." He didn't bother to say goodbye. The phone landed on the cushion of the armchair and with bare feet he walked into the kitchen with so much determination in his step that not even an earthquake would be able to put him of balance.

"John." he breathed.

Telling his brother, it had been hard for the consulting detective. But telling the first person outside the walls of 221B had also been the push into reality. He and John was having a child of their own. Chest was heaving heavily, he was trembling and tears burnt the back of his eyes. He was having a baby.

John got his head out of the stove and looked up at him in squatting position. The tears in Sherlock's eyes pulled him up like someone had grabbed him by the neck and his arms wound around Sherlock's thin body and his forehead fell to the muscular shoulder. There he cried, pinning himself to John as emotions cascaded over him like a hot shower.

"What did he say?" John asked him worriedly and stroke big circles on his back. Fearing that Mycroft was more of an idiot than he'd come to notice. But it wasn't the words of Mycroft who had set Sherlock into this fit of crying. It was still the same fact, still the little 'cell' inside him.

"We're having a baby." he mouthed heavily and it was the first time he'd spoken that sentence. Realisation became clearer and he broke apart in John's arms. He hated, and loved himself for being this wreck.

Telling Mrs Hudson was a different story. John was the one who went down to her flat to tell her while Sherlock hid in his bedroom. Mrs Hudson could be such a hugger in happy situations so he sent down John to take the blow. And, as he'd warned John, he came to realise that there was more muscles inside that little woman than he'd ever imagined.

"Oh I always knew Sherlock was different." she giggled. Like everyone didn't knew that already, thought John as he tried to squirm out of her hard grip. "I saw a show on the telly about is some months ago." she said and pulled back to put the kettle on. "If I only known, I could have taped it for you." And the evening went on with questions of how the upcoming year would change.

While Sherlock enjoyed the lonesome time in the flat, John was cooped up downstairs with a woman who didn't understand that he was just too polite to stand up and leave. Enough about 'the mystery of the divorcing couples of Baker street' and `Guess the name of the famous actor'. But, he sat quietly until the clock struck eight and a thought came to mind.

"Isn't it time for your herbal soothers?" Twenty minutes later, Mrs Hudson was finally about to doze off in front of him and as a doctor, he advised her the bed. He had never been so thankful for silence as he walked up the fourteen steps to his and Sherlock's flat. And the discovery he was about to make there made him forget every unimportant information mrs Hudson had been feeding him. There was a sleeping Sherlock on the sofa. Shirt pulled up the his ribs and a hand resting on his stomach that didn't show a single sign yet. He stayed in the doorway for a how long, he did not know. Just watching, because after all, this might be the only time in life he would be able to see Sherlock like this. So lovingly clutching his stomach, glowing like they's just made love and those little smiles that was like a proof that Sherlock actually thought about the little human inside him, which was very often. He tiptoed to the sofa, swiftly avoiding every crack in the floor that would squeak and then fell to his knees beside the man. Entwined their hands upon his stomach and pressed soft lips to his sleeping lips. With a small moan and still dreaming he turned his head to John and grasped his hand a little tighter.

"John?" he mouthed, still sleeping and the doctor traced the tip of his finger over his bushy eyebrow. The detective was calm again.

* * *

The midwife advised him to buy a set of new trousers when she saw how tight his current pair was when he unbuttoned them for ultrasound. John just giggled and Sherlock shot him the death stare that made him swallow the noises at once. Only Mycroft had been subjected with that look before and John didn't even dare to excuse himself for being so rude over something so small. But all the anger faded away quickly as the image of their child showed up on the screen. All grey and blurry at first, and quick soft sound of heartbeats. Then the grey spots scrambled together and formed the silhouette of a small baby.

"I would say you're 19 weeks. It should..." she silenced when she turned to see their faces. Sherlock clenching his teeth and adam's apple bobbing of all the swallowing. John, who's seen this so many times before didn't expect much of himself from this. But sitting here, in a chair beside Sherlock, laying his eyes upon his unborn child for the first time made him speechless. "I would say due-date would be january the 6th." A mix between a sob and giggle slipped over Sherlock's lips as he heard those words, but he managed to keep the tears from falling.

"That's my birthday." he murmured and turned his face to John who didn't have as much luck as him in fighting tears. "We might share birthday." And John swallowed the rest of his happy murmuring by kissing him deeply and squeezing his hand.

The examination went on and no problems was to be found, but she did remind him about the trousers one more time and than added something that made Sherlock feel extremely lucky. He had a uterus leaning inwards and wouldn't be getting to big. He could wear his coat buttoned to the end of this adventure and probably just use some of John's clothes when his were getting to tight. A black and white picture was placed in Sherlock's hands before they left the hospital and wile waiting for their cab on the parking lot, they didn't care that it was late. The coat was warm around them both as John stood hugging. Smelling him, kissing him, listening to every little expression of life such as heart and breath and Sherlock welcomed it dearly. Mirroring his acts of love with the thoughts on the picture in his left pocket and the cild inside him.

* * *

Lies, all lies, Sherlock thought. A big bump. Big. Huge for being six months!

Small, John thought. Incredibly small for being six months.

And it was going to be bigger. Much, much bigger. He sprawled out on the bed, cursing his aching feet and the lack of murders. Life was boring. Baby was boring. John was boring. Everything was boring. John was off working. Leaving him alone with his bump and a bad feeling in his stomach that something wasn't right about this day. He turned back and forth in bed, trying to shake off the feeling but it just would let go of his gut. The feeling overcame him and he reached for the phone in his pocked to call for rescue. John.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answered and Sherlock was quickly drowned by a sudden sadness. Biting his bottom lip hard, staring into oblivion he felt the tears burn his eyes.

"John." he stuttered and he heard the noise of a chair being pulled out and a door getting shut.

"Sherlock? You okay?" He didn't know. Everything just seemed so sad all of a sudden. His books had been out of order, he'd dropped a sip of tea on the carpet, there was a stain of milk on his robe. Everything felt so out of place.

"Everything is wrong." he groaned into the phone with a violent breath that vibrated in his chest. The tears tickled his face as they travelled down to his ear. "It all feels so... off."

"What do you mean?" he heard John say as his ears was overcome with the sound of the muscles tensing around his head.

"Can't you come home?" There was a moment of silence, John was probably looking at the clock that was placed on the wall behind his chair.

"Can't you wait three more hours?"

"Please John." he chocked out between clenched teeth before John even finished the sentence. His body ached for John's touch, he needed him here. Just for a couple of seconds he could press his nose into his hair, feel his strong arms around his body. John was the only thing that could calm him right now. Damn these hormones!

"Sherlock?" John said in a calm tone that Sherlock didn't want to hear over the phone. He wanted to feel the breath of those words caress his ear. "Calm down, it will ease down in a minute." No they wouldn't. World was out of order around him, why couldn't John understand that? How could he be this cruel.

"Please." he begged him and tried to sound a miserable as he possibly could. And, John finally left his office to get to him as quick as possible.

It felt like many hours before he heard steppes in the stairs. It came like a salvation and all the emotions swelled over him, forcing him to curl up around his bump and sob violently. That's how John found him, and he didn't know if to laugh of sympathise.

"Sherlock?" he said with a voice imbedded with compassion as he laid down beside him. As he folded his arms around the trembling body the sobbing became louder and he accidentally uttered a little laugh but at the same time he felt sorry for his boyfriend. "What's wrong?" It was like taking care of little child. And listening to one as well as Sherlock started to explain about his horrible morning with accidental stains and books out of order. But suddenly, by telling this to another person, even Sherlock realised how ridiculous he was being, and suddenly he felt bad for pulling John out of work. The crying stopped and he started to pout instead.

"I'm sorry John." he said calmly and sniffled. Enjoying the touch of his boyfriends hands on his stomach he started to drift into some kind of sudden tiredness.

"It's all fine." John whispered into his ear and he could feel his breath caress his skin. "It's all going to be fine." Sherlock slept for the rest of the day. Deeply than in many days.

* * *

Another day in bed, cursing the kicking to his ribs, cursing the constant peeing, cursing the huge bump that slowed him down and making him ponderous. But yet loving the movements if his child, loving the way John had his ear to his bump and listened. The sounds travelled from ear to heart inside John. It was a strong baby that was kicking him in the cheek and jaw. A big and strong nine-months-baby that had taken over their ordinary lifestyle and home before it was even born. The flat was now baby-safe, new furnitures had taken up the spaces almost everywhere. Now all they needed was a baby, and Sherlock was determined to get it out by the end of the week.

"We should pack a hospital bag." said John while caressing the bump that wasn't as big as a normal pregnancy-bump would be in this stage.

"What for?" Sherlock asked, busy looking up every remedy to get into labour on his phone and John frowned.

"What do you mean 'what for'? We need be prepared." And Sherlock snickered darkly.

"I'm not having him at a hospital." he said with a crocket smile and John was suddenly sitting straight in the bed with eyes wide as saucers. He knew, that if Sherlock had decided something, it was happening, and that fact had never scared him as much as it did now.

"When were you planning to tell me this!?" he asked and Sherlock lowered his phone as he heard his tone. Giving him a wondering look.

"Why, what does it matter? Last check up said everything looked brilliant. There's no need for a hospital if everything's brilliant." John pressed his hands to his cheeks and groaned loudly as he clawed his skin. Sherlock had decided.

"You do know this is going to hurt, right?" he asked and let his hand pull his hair by the roots.

"Obviously." said the detective with a calm voice and returned to his phone. "But I think I'm used to a little pain."  
"A littl... Sherlock! I don't think you understand the forces of a delivery." said John and felt the panic start to grow.

"Well luckily I have a doctor at hand." John sighed and nodded if he didn't want to. "You and I can do this John. And if things goes wrong, we just need to call Mycroft. We will be at the hospital at no time." John found himself pulling at his own jaw and he quickly closed his mouth.

"You crazy man." he mouthed and stepped out of bed. The weight shifting in bed made Sherlock look up from his phone again and he saw John leaving.

"Where are you going?" he shouted after him and got up on his elbows. The stepped that had been fading came back and John was back in the room.

"It can't only be you and me. We need a third one. Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly or your midwife." He was pointing with his whole hand at the detective to show that this was his demand that Sherlock had to respect and Sherlock fell back in bed with a loud groan.

"Don't make me choose!" he shouted and wound his arms around his stomach, muttering and making the whole thing seem overdramatic.

"Do you want me to choose?" John asked and the detective stopped breathing for a second. The room fell silent as Sherlock thought over his alternatives and he finally breathed out a name.

"Lestrade." With a quick nod, John left the apartment to get all they needed for a delivery. And visit Lestrade, because the man would not take this easy over phone.

* * *

January the 4th, John had been working late and came home to a flat were everything was quiet. Just the a buzzing was in the air, caused by water falling in the shower. Sherlock was showering and John took some well earned time off in the armchair. Yesterdays paper ended up in his hands and he reread the reports about the horrible train crash. Minuter passed, too many minutes for Sherlock to be showering and John started to turn in his armchair. Thirty minuter, it was time to investigate. The way from the sitting room felt longer and unrecognisable. Like he hadn't walked it a thousand times before. He stopped by the wooded door and saw the steam well out underneath it, Sherlock was showering very hot. He thanked Sherlock deeply for not locking the door, he never bothered to knock.

"Sherlock?" he asked as the mist lightened and he saw the outline of his body behind the shower curtains. It was the moment of truth as he grasped the wet curtain and pulled it aside, and he wasn't surprised to find Sherlock with his face scrunched up in pain and clutched his not-to-big-baby-bump. "Oh, love." The hot water was cascading over his back, leaving red marks like he'd been brutally whipped. He protested when John turned it off.

"No, leave it on." he groaned and tried to swing his hips to ease the pain.

"No, let's get you out of there." said John with the calmest voice he could find inside himself in this moment and he pealed his hand of the wall and his bump. The contraction had passed and Sherlock could easily move from the slippery shower the the bathroom matt where John wound him in towels. "How far are they apart?" Breathing evened out for Sherlock and he let go of the concentration to look up at John.

"Four minutes." he breathed and swallowed. "It's been going on since you left." All blood seemed to be leaving John's head at that moment.

"That was six hours ago!" he shouted and Sherlock managed to chuckle.

"Told you I could do it." If Sherlock wasn't pregnant right now he would smack those cheekbones until his hand needed stitches. But John knew that this was only the beginning of the pain and that he would be punished by his own body soon enough.

"Still don't want to go to the hospital?"

"Oh what's the use?" Sherlock groaned. "I'm doing fine." All John could do was sigh and hope that this evening would end well. With careful steps he helped Sherlock out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. There were signs everywhere of how Sherlock had coped with the pain. Clear signs of clenching fists on the bedspread, pillows on the floor, cup after cup with cold tea. He sat him down on the bedside and took out the hospital gown that had been in their wardrobe for the last three days, all Sherlock's clothes was to valuable for him to get sticky and bloody. He looked ridiculous in it, but John didn't say a word. At lest not of the bad kinds.

He squatted before him and they were in perfect level to hold each other just as another contraction hit. A humming sound started deep down in Sherlock's lungs and John started to realise how far he'd gotten on his own. Already vocalising.

"I'm gonna check how open you are, alright?" he said as the pain ebbed away. His hand travelled over Sherlock's tensed body, down between his legs and inside as he was still holding him. "Six centimetres. You've been doing really good on your own." Sherlock looked smug by those words, still not effected negatively by the pain. "I wish you would have called me. It would have been awful if something had happened while I wasn't here." The detective rolled his eyes and leaned back in his arms. "I know nothing did. But still." John felt a little left out. His child was coming to the world, and had been on it way for the last six hours, and Sherlock hadn't even bothered to pick up the phone to tell him. "I'm going to call Greg. D'you wanna lie down for a bit?" Water dripped from his hair as he nodded and John helped him move back in bed. Sitting beside him, rubbing circles on his back with one hand and the phone in the other he called Greg. Sherlock kept humming through every contraction that hit, grimacing when it hit its peek but then relaxed as it ebbed away. He didn't even hear John talk to Lestrade, he didn't even notice him leave the room to get him water or heat up the broth.

"You need to get some protein in you." said John, trying to avoid sounding like a doctor and he helped Sherlock sit up. Leaning against John, Sherlock drank the broth between contraction. Time was shrinking between them and he was soon to be down on three minutes. They weren't strong enough to have any sort of negative effect on him but John could see the signs that they were coming. He swallowed the last of the broth and John discarded the mug and returned to massaging his back while he leaned against the headboard with Sherlock in his arms.

"Does this help?" John asked him and Sherlock woke up from like a dream in his arms. It toke some time for him to understand that is was the rubbing of his back that they were talking about.

"A little harder." he said and John increased the pressure of his fingers, sending a calming hiss over Sherlock's lips. Suddenly, the contraction worsened and the humming wasn't enough anymore. At the peeks, small whimpering shouts was heard from him. A little like a broken owl, but far more painful. His head dropped to John's shoulder each time they took place. Like he tried to hide from them and Sherlock seemed to realise that this was a little more than he'd expected.

"Tell me if you want me to call an ambulance." John pleaded, but deep down he knew that even if this came out of control, Sherlock would never admit than he was wrong about home birth. And sure enough, Sherlock's answered proved him right.

"Never."

Soon they heard the voice of Greg it the flat and John felt some kind of relief that he didn't need to take care of Sherlock alone anymore. There was so much more he needed to do than just bring comfort to his boyfriend, he needed to be a doctor too.  
"In here!" John called just as another contraction hit and Greg entered just as Sherlock howled as loudest. John could tell that Greg quickly regretted his agreement to help out with this. "Don't worry. He will come through in a minute." The pain went away and left a short breathed Sherlock in his arms. He kissed his temple and asked him softly if Lestrade could take him for the next couple of contraction, he needed to check him. Lucky enough, Sherlock agreed to the switch and Greg climbed uncomfortably into the bed and sat down behind Sherlock who quickly grasped his hand.

"You're doing great, Sherlock." said John with a smile and moved down between his legs to feel. A new wave of pain and he shoved himself into Greg who tensed up even more than Sherlock. During the hour that John had been home Sherlock had dilated quickly. Eight centimetres already, and he feared that Sherlock might doubt his decisions in the hour to come as the transition phase begins. Sweat was soaking the gown Sherlock was wearing and John fetched a towel soaked in cold water to chill down his face and neck. The detective welcomed it with a big sigh and he slumped against Greg.

"The bed is to soft." he suddenly murmured and opened his eyes to look at John. They shared a small moment just then, John just wiping his face with the most lovingly smile and Sherlock forgot about the pain for a couple of second. But then they hit with full force again and this time the pain was as real as it could be. He clenched his teeth and pushed himself against Greg, shouting and cursing.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me!" John called out and Lestrade was about to panic behind Sherlock. "Breathe Sherlock! Come on love! Look at me!" He opened his teared eyes, full of fear and distress and John cupped his face so he couldn't turn away. "Come on. Just like I do!" And John breathed calmly. In though in nose and out through his mouth. "Do that, love. Come on." But Sherlock wasn't interested in breathing exercises.

"Get him out!" he shouted and tried to move his head away from John but he kept him put. Pain was tearing him to pieces. World was getting black around him and John wanted him to breath. This was madness. "Make it stop!"

"Maybe we should end it here." stammered Lestrade and nodded for the phone on the bedside. "Let's call an ambulance."

"Bring an end to this already!" he screamed loudly and John massaged his waist.

"Sherlock!" he said loudly and forced him to look at him. "I know it's bad. But.." Another painful shout as the contraction hit. "You need to breathe. Come on. I know you can to this!" He jumped up in bed and fell to his knees, pressed his forehead against his. "Breathe with me. Or I'll have to call your brother." The painful shout faded and Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose. "And out through the mouth." It fell trembling over his lips. "Good, you're doing great. Keep going. This is the most painful but shortest phase. You're almost into pushing." John was partly wrong, it wasn't just the most painful phase, it was the scariest phase. For a couple of second Sherlock had gone though pain he didn't think was possible. Still breathing like John told him, he could hear himself sob every time he breathed out and John pulled him into his warm embrace. Letting him cry out to his shoulder, letting him breath the smell that calmed him the most.

"Greg." he whispered. "Leave us for a second, will you?" The man didn't need to be asked twice. He practically ran out of the room and John held his crying Sherlock tightly. "You're doing great, love. You're doing this exceptionally good." Another contraction and John rubbed his back as he breathed through it. Then there was a sigh that sounded like relief and Sherlock slumped in his arms.

"My water broke." he said and John looked down on the puddle on the cover.

"Good, you're getting close. Almost time to push. Is the bed still to soft?" Sherlock nodded and pinned himself to John's shoulders.

Pain, pain, more pain, more pain, pain that is humanly impossible, pain beyond the humanly impossible, pain, pain.

"How could you fool me into this John." he sniffled and shook his head as it rested against John's shoulder. "This is just cruel."

"Think about what you will be holding when this is over." John whispered into his hair and rocked him gently. "Your own little baby." But Sherlock didn't have time to find any sort of comfort in his words before a new wave of pain showed up. John helped him through it with soft encouraging words and Sherlock made it without panicking. "Do you want to move somewhere else?"

"I want to stand up for a moment." he moaned and John stepped down from the bed.

"Greg!" he called and the DI was back in the blink of an eye. "Can you hold him wile I get rid of the cover." It was a fight to get Sherlock out of bed now when the contraction were on top of each other. Every time they tried to get him on his feet he fell back onto the bed with a loud moan followed by shouting into the crock of John's neck. But the shouting was soon to be replaced b grunting and John finally started to see the end of things. He traced his hands down between his legs again and sighed happily as he made the discovery that would bring the mood up for everyone in the room. "You're there Sherlock. It's time to push." And Sherlock looked like he was about to cry when he heard those words, he had been waiting for the end of this way to long. "Greg, behind the wardrobe, there's a spare mattress, could you get it?" He held Sherlock as he groaned again, bearing down with the forceful contraction and John kept rubbing his back. "Listen to me now, love. Here's how we gonna do this. We're gonna put you down on the mattress and Greg is going to hold you. You can lean against him to rest between contraction and you can hold his hands when you bear down. I'll be at your feet, checking progress and catching our little baby when he decides to appear. Okay?" Sherlock nodded against his shoulder and the mattress landed before their feet. "Get him some water." The doctor in him was about to take over completely and Sherlock would probably not notice. All his concentration was put on the contractions and nothing else. The movement from the bed to the mattress was almost on the edge to make Sherlock cry again. The pains tearing through him didn't really let him use his body for anything else than bearing down with the contractions. Greg came back and placed a bottle of water on the floor before placing himself behind the trembling Sherlock.

"He's shaking." he said worriedly and shot John a look with eyes big as saucers.

"It's normal." John assured him and gave Sherlock some of the water from the bottle. "Hold him, and he he wants to move, move with him. His body takes all the commands right now." John was glad Sherlock had chosen Lestrade of all people. That man had helped Sherlock through a couple of bad fits with drug use and both he and Sherlock trusted him to the fullest. They couldn't have invited a better person to assist them in the birth of their child. Lestrade sneaked his arms around Sherlock's waist and took both his hands, Sherlock squeezed them tightly.

"Bring your chin to your chest like this." said John and showed him what to do. "And then, hold your breath and bear down until you feel it's enough. Don't tire yourself though. And if I say stop, you'll need to stop. How painful and urging it even might be." Sherlock listened and nodded just as another contraction hit with full force and he already forgot what John had told him. A cold hand was placed on his cheek and he heard the orders to push so he did.

"Well done." Greg praised him as the pain ebbed away and Sherlock's head fell to his shoulder. There he paused the world around him for a moment, travelling away to his mind palace for just a couple of seconds. Then the urge to push came back and Greg help him to hold his chin to the chest.

"There's a pressure." he moaned loudly and John just smiled at him, offered him some more water which he gladly accepted.

"It's moving down. This shouldn't take to long." Another painful urge and he was about to squeeze the life out of Greg's hands, but he didn't care if the man would have them ruined for life.

After way to many contractions for Sherlock's liking, John uttered the words he'd been waiting for for seven months. "I can see him now. It's right there." Tears were welling out of the doctors eyes and he had a hard time keeping himself from falling apart before his labouring boyfriend. "It got lots of hair Sherlock. Dark as yours."

"Almost at the end." said Greg encouraging. "Almost finished." He pushed again and felt something lit on fire inside him.

"Stop pushing! Just blow now okay. Like this." John showed him and placed a firm hand upon the baby's head to ease it out. "It's gonna feel weird, but don't push." The next contraction hit and the urge to push was so strong that blowing felt like the greatest punishment of all time. His body screamed from the middle of his bones for him to push and he wasn't allowed? And then he felt it, a sensation that made him lose it and he stopped blowing and started panting in pain.

"Oh god!" he groaned and felt how Greg started to rock him. "Oh god, oh god.."

"Breathe Sherlock." Greg ordered him. "Deep breaths, it's almost over." The pressure suddenly stopped and a shout slipped over his lips as some kind of relief washed over him.

"There's a head!" John exclaimed and laughed happily. "There's a head Sherlock." The detective was shaking in Lestrade's arms, begging for this to be over.

"I would be utterly shocked it there weren't." he groaned in agony and even Greg laughed at him. Sherlock didn't even realise he was being funny. "Can I push now?" John nodded but panicked when he realised he hadn't grabbed any towels or blankets. He had nothing to wrap the little infant in. But it was to late, Sherlock was pushing, and hard. The baby turned to make room for the shoulders and Sherlock hissed by the uncomfortable sensation. Imagination had its limits, John's jumper was pulled over his head and he reached down to place it under the child's head.

"One more push, love. Just one more and you'll be able to hold our baby." And he pushed, hard, and all the way down from his toes. Screaming as the shoulders slipped free and suddenly everything just ended. Pain, agony, everything just faded in the matter of seconds and he slumped down in Greg's arms. Panting violently when he felt something heavy on his chest that eased his heaving. Sounds of small gurgles and soon a cry of anger of being forced out of its first home, there was a child on his chest.

"Look at that." Greg almost sang and moved the curls out of Sherlock's eyes. He could hear the both men in the room giggling in happiness and Sherlock forced his eyes open. Looking down in his chest he saw the most beautiful creature of his lifetime. Dark velvety hair, face bundled up as it expressed the hatred he had upon the world and just wanted to be back inside were he came from, small arms flailing like it had no control over them and small little feet with the smallest toes he'd ever seen. John was rubbing the child with what appeared to be his jumper and all the blood and amniotic got wiped away.

"It's a little boy." John sobbed. After a moment of realisation, Sherlock finally found the energy to lift his arms and touch the child. It was so soft, so knew, so untouched and wonderful and he was shot by a feeling of pride. He and John had made him, this was their son. And with that, tears started to fall. His son, his beautiful son who he'd only felt but never seen, laid in his arms. Perfect in every way. The child's screaming calmed and his hand found his mouth. Two fingers slipped between his lips and he started sucking. He looked up at John for the first time in what seemed like hours and was meet by a John he'd never seen before. There was no harsh solider left in him, he could tell by his eyes, that character had been replaced with something new. His John was a father.

"We did it." said John and sniffled as cut the cord with a pair of scissors that turned up from nowhere. The boy was suddenly free from his father. "You did it." He leaned in and captured a kiss from him, a kiss unlike all others they's ever shared. So full of love of the completeness of their little family. "You did great." John's blue eyes was glittering as he stroke his hair. "Look at him." Sherlock was already looking. Amazed that he was the one carrying this little being. The hair was soft under his touch, like velvet and he found himself gaping at him.

"John." he breathed without taking his eyes off the boy. It was the first time he spoke in the child's presence. "Can I kiss him?"

"Yes." John giggled and placed a hand on the child's back. "As much as you like." He bowed his head and pressed tender lips to the baby's head when he felt his eyes tearing up again.

"Oh, John." he sobbed and closed his eyes hard, lips still brushing the child's soft skin. A shock was taking over him and he needed to be held before it ripped him apart. Strong arms embraced him and he leaned his head to his chest, sobbed in silence as nerves calmed. He didn't even notice when Greg left their side and neither did John. They were to occupied with observing the boy to even care about anything else. No words was shared, they just caressed the boys head and cheeks as he slept.

"He's so small, John." Sherlock finally said to break the silence. "He almost fits in my hand."

"Well." John smirked and played with his long fingers that was wrapped around the boys back. "You have very big hands." Another groan slipped out of him as his belly started cramping again and John saw the panic spread over his boyfriends face again. "It's the afterbirth." he explained calmly. "It will be over quickly. It will barely hurt at all." He placed a heavy hand on Sherlock's shrinking stomach and massaged it lightly to help it slide out. It didn't take more than a couple of minutes before it did without a noise from Sherlock, and John discarded in quickly while Sherlock leaned back to the side of the bed. Every movement from the child hypnotised him. This was the same little life that had been kicking and fluttering inside him for so long. And now he was here, in his arms.

"Hamish." he whispered and twinned the soft hair between his fingers.

"What?" John asked and wiped the blood of his thighs with the already ruined cover from the bed. "

"His name." said Sherlock and the boy opened his eyes for the first time. Dark blue as the night sky and just as mysterious as a good murder. A broad smile crept up to his lips. "He's a Hamish."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed this oneshot. It was originally posted on archivesofourown. **

**Leave a review please. They will always brighten my day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was reading the first part and realized that I wasn't really happy with the ending. Felt that there was more to be told. So I just had to write something about the bonding. **

* * *

With the bed thoroughly cleaned and Sherlock washed up with warm water from sponge and bowl, the new father was tucked in under fresh cover and leaned against the headboard. The boy in his arms had all his attention and he hardly noticed the pain in his loins anymore. But he was tired, exhausted in fact and John couldn't blame him. The man had been through a wringer and deserved some sleep, but not just yet. There was a lot that needed to be done before John could let him rest.

"Let's get him dressed and then give him a bottle." he said in a low tone and removed some of the curls from Sherlock's forehead, smiling at him calmingly.

"But he's sleeping." said Sherlock with a hoarse voice and lifted his gaze from the little infant who so peacefully rested after his hard fight to get into the world. No one in their right mind could even consider waking him up now, he thought. "We can't wake him." And he felt something take over inside him, some strong urge to protect and shield the little child from all evil and he couldn't help to feel a little scared. This little being, sleeping deep and swaddled in John's jumper, was the strongest love he'd ever felt. Up until this day, he'd always thought that his love for John was the most powerful thing in the universe, but now there was this, the feeling of fatherhood he never thought he would be able to experience since he'd always been certain that no one could ever love or even consider starting a family with someone like him. But then he'd met John.

"He will freeze if we don't." John explained and reached for the small clothes that laid folded on the end of the bed. "We don't want that, do we?" That made Sherlock change his mind and he lightened his holding on the small boy, feeling the parental urge ease around his heart for a moment and letting John in to be a part of it all.

He placed him carefully on his lap and saw him squirm as the warmth of his father's embrace left him. Sherlock broke a little when the crying started and it was like torture to see John unfold the jumper around him.

"He doesn't like it." he whined and just wanted the crying to end, fighting himself not to pick him up again and press him against his chest to give him some warmth. It pained him to see his son in distress and John didn't seem to care. Why didn't John care?

"Well, he can't grow up naked." John chuckled and picked up the small nappy. "Let's do this quick so he can go back to sleep again."

They put the small clothes on together and Sherlock started to realise that his head wasn't as clear as he was used to. It felt like to many hands was touching the boy, to many for just two people. Was it because he was tired or had he lost blood? He had no idea, he just wanted it all to stop, his head to go back to normal again.

Hamish continued to cry until all the clothing was on him and they swaddled him in the dark green blanket before he was scoped up in the arms of Sherlock again, wearing a onesie that John had ordered online. It was white with a little tea-set on the chest. The laugh Sherlock had given him when he saw it a week ago was priceless, but now he seemed to like it telling by the smiles on his lips.

"Do you think he's hungry?" Sherlock asked without taking his eyes off the child.

"He should be. He haven't gotten anything for a long time now." A small whimper came from the sleeping Hamish and the both fathers silenced to look at him.

It was truly an unusual sight for them both. Especially for Sherlock, this was the first time he'd ever held a baby. Nobody had ever let him touch one before. After all, he was a 'freak', and who would let a child lie in the arms of a freak? But now, he had his own little child, his own little bundle of joy and he would never let him go.

"You can talk to him, you know." He turned his gaze to John who was stroking Hamish's dark hair, his eyes lashes still soaked and glittering by tears. "Let him find comfort in your voice." Not a word had ever been spoken between Sherlock and Hamish, not even during the pregnancy. John had spoken enough for them both, always whispering and murmuring with his lips pressed to his bare skin and Sherlock had never understood why.

"But he can't understand me." he said in a whisper and turned to his son again, saw the pursed lips working in a sucking motion and darting his tongue.

"No, but I think he will appreciate it. After all, he've heard your voice many times as you've been talking to me or shouting at somebody else. He'll recognise it."

What words could be spoken between a thirty-two-year-old man and a thirty-two-minutes-old boy? Between a genius and the cleanest mind in the world? This child hadn't been subjected to anything before. And with that, Sherlock started to get excited. This boy's mind was his and John's to fill. What a man he would grow up to become with all the information they both possessed and would give. He was like a clean sheet of paper for them to compose something new on.

Tracing a finger over his chubby cheek, he suddenly forgot to be intelligent. There was nothing he could tell this boy who would show him what a genius his father actually was.

"Hello Hamish." he chirped and saw in the corner of his eye how John's lips curled into a broad smile. "You're a very handsome boy."

"He truly is." John agreed and touched the little hand that Hamish so eagerly circled around his finger. "He will look much like you when he grows up." He sighed happily and placed a warm hand on Sherlock's cheek, watching him with big eyes like he tried to figure out what thoughts was travelling around inside his head. "How are you feeling?" The detective leaned into his touch and closed his eyes for a second. Just enjoying the moment of him and John being so complete with little Hamish in their presence.

"I'm tired." he answered truthfully, even if it would make John ask him to rest, he didn't intend to though. The plan was to stay awake for as long as possible to deduct everything about this little being, to get to know him, bond with him until Hamish could feel how loved he actually was. And John agreed to his unspoken words.

"You're not allowed to rest just yet." he said and pressed his lips to his forehead. "We need to feed him first. I'll go make him a bottle. Talk to him for a while."

* * *

Greg was sitting in the kitchen, taking a smoke under the fan and John could forgive him even if he poisoning the air. Even he could use something to soothe the nerves right now. It had been a hard hour and a half for them both, he could just imagine how Sherlock felt. Eight hours of labour, living on tea and broth, he needed to bring something for him too.  
"They okay?" Greg asked him and showed John that he had also found the whisky. Without so much as thinking, he turned to the cabinet and started to get some formula ready for his son. The boy was hungry, and his parental instinct was already on autopilot.

"Yes, they're fine." he answered and heard how his friend filled another glass behind his back. "Sherlock might be on the edge of being a bit overprotecting at the moment though, but who can blame him?" The DI smirked, sipped the drink in his shaking hand that was sore after Sherlock's hard grip and John turned to him again, carrying a very relaxed face caused by the presence of his friend in the room. "Thank you Greg." he told him and let out a big breath as the world fell of his shoulders. "I don't think we've managed without you. Especially me."

"Nah!" Greg said and put the cigarette in the sink to suffocate the fire. "It was kind of fun. Scary, but fun. And weird, somewhat." Their short conversation died out and so did the bubbles in the boiling water as John removed it from the stove, put the bottle with the formula in to warm it up when steps was heard in the stairs. Soon mrs Hudson entered the kitchen with a casserole dish in her hands and a smile on her painted lips.

"I heard the crying from downstairs and figured it was over." she said and placed the dish on the table and pulled the thick gloves of her hands. "How did it go?"

"Everything went fine." John said and smelled the air as it was filled with the aroma of the food she'd brought. "They're both doing fine. Sherlock did great." And then a silence fell to the room, the three people just eyeing each other, waiting for John to tell her the obvious which he prolonged just just to see the anticipation rise in the old woman's face.

"It's a boy." he finally said with a relived laugh and with those words, mrs Hudson gave a little squeal and hurried through the kitchen to hug him just as hard as when he told her the news a few months back. That little woman was truly an amazon with all those muscles in her body.

Tears flowed down her cheeks when she cupped his face and stared into his blue eyes. Crying and giggling, she kissed his jaw since she didn't reach much higher that that.

"Congratulations John." he squealed and took both of his hands and squeezed them tightly. "I remember the day you two moved in like it was yesterday. Who new it would come to this."

"Oh, mrs Hudson." John smirked. "I think you always knew."

* * *

Leaving the kitchen with the warm bottle in his hand and a bowl of hot soup in the other, he retreated to the bedroom to find Sherlock, still in bed and murmuring to their little son. The conversation to low for John to hear, and figured that Sherlock wanted to keep his words between him and the boy only.

"How are you feeling?" John asked him again and placed the soup on the bedside table before he fell down on the edge of the bed. Sherlock lifted his head, looked at him half lidded and took a deep breath through a nose clogged by the earlier crying.

"Empty." he answered a little melancholy. "Tired." They didn't take it further than that.

The warm bottle was placed in his hand and John showed him how to get Hamish to latch on. The small, pursed lips circled around the pacifier and he sucked it almost violently, showing how strong he actually was and not as weak as he had the appearance to be. It was a wonderful sight to see Sherlock feeding the boy. It was a scene John never thought would be a part of his life. All those years in the army, all those friend he'd lost and left him broken and with the future plans to die alone and sad had faded when he'd met Sherlock. The man who healed him, and somehow put him back into the tracks of a somewhat a normal life. He had gone from the broken solider to father, and the journey had been long, painful but yet incredibly wonderful.  
He reached out his hand and touched Sherlock's blushing cheek, caught a soft gaze from the blue-green eyes and told him the same words he'd told him so many times before, except this time, the meaning of them felt stronger, more meaningful.

"I love you." Sherlock's head fell back to the pillow and his chest heaved of the deep breath.

"Feeling are more than mutual." he answered him, making John giggle.

It wasn't the answer John wanted and Sherlock could probably read the small ounce of disappointment in his laugh.

"I love you, John." he said with a voice coming from the dept of his chest that made John quiver. Skin prickled as he leaned in and kissed the beautiful man he loved so dearly.

With silent movements an rearrangements, John placed himself beside him in bed, placed an arm around Sherlock to let him lean into the warmth of his body and they both watched in silence as Hamish ate.

"He's got so small hands." John chirped and saw the little limbs squeeze the air around the bottle.

"Of course he does." Sherlock said and placed his heavy head on his shoulder, yet again breathing in the smell of John's aftershave that made his head go fuzzy. "He's an infant."

"You can't say you're not impressed by him." John tried and played with the dark hair on the child head. He heard the little laugh leave Sherlock.

"I must say I am." he said truthfully. "I thought they would be bigger, and have less hair. I'm almost surprised he's got nails." John bursted into laughter and tossed his head back, gladly seeing Sherlock doing the same and not hating him for being amused by his lack of intellect.

"My detective, the most intelligent man I know and you're surprised our son is born with fingernails." He shook his head. "You can be such and idiot from time to time." He added a kiss to his temple and Sherlock hummed happily.

They boy finished his meal but continued to work his lips and tongue when he was done. The empty bottle was placed beside the cooling bowl of soup when Sherlock looked up at John with the same tired eyes as before.

"You haven't held him yet." he said and John opened his mouth to tell him that it didn't matter but he closed it quickly. Of course he wanted to hold him, he had only felt the weight of him in his hands as he pulled him out of Sherlock, but he hadn't really held him yet. "Take him." He picked him up from Sherlock's arms like he was as fragile as glass and pressed him to his chest. Felt the little life and realised that this was the first time he'd ever held him this close. Before, he'd only felt him kick and move. Now he felt him breathe, he could see every little motion and best of all touch those little hands he'd been longing to hold. He pressed tender lips to his forehead and took a breath of that new-baby-smell that made his heart skip a beat. Love could never get stronger than this.

"Hi Hamish." he chirped, voice raised an octave or two and he fought the tears stinging his eyes. "Hullo."

John had never felt happier.

* * *

**So, did I just ruin it? Tell me what you think please. Leave a review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**What started as a one-shot became a two-shot. And now it's a bloody three-shot. Maybe I'm ruining it but that's up to you readers. **

* * *

It took an hour to get Sherlock to sleep, but with a warm soup-belly he couldn't really argue with his body's needs and his head just needed to reach the pillow before he snored. John laid beside him for a moment, observed the man who so amazingly brought a little human being into the world without any sorts of painkillers. Never in the doctor life had he passed such a strong man.

He looked down on his chest where little Hamish now slept, fingers in his mouth and blanket keeping him warm. He traced the tip of his finger of his bundled features of his face and did the best he could to put it on his memory, he never wanted to forget what he looked like when he'd just entered the world. After all, this was the smallest he would ever be.

Low voices was buzzing in the flat, mrs Hudson and Greg was still around, just making sure that the little family was doing fine and ready to help them if it was needed, John was more than thankful. It had been a weird day. It had started with work, stitching up wounds and helping with stomach bugs. But the moments he'd stepped into this flat, the moment he pulled back that shower curtain he knew that life would change forever, because this little thing was finally on its way.

But frankly, even if life seemed different there was still needs for the father to take care of for himself. Right now, he would kill for a box of dim sum or a cup of tea. Hamish wasn't the only thing in the world that was demanding, John's stomach needed attention as well.

As careful as a man could be with a baby in his arms he got out of bed, wound the blankets a little tighter around his son before he shot Sherlock a last look before leaving him. The curly hair was the only thing sticking up under the cover and John loved that hair just as much as he loved the body attached to it. Hopefully Hamish would inherit that head of hair one day.

He left the room with a sigh, realising that this was the first trip Hamish took in his home. All the things that would take place in this flat from now on travelled the doctor's imagination. Every furniture, every room would be filled with memories. First tooth, first step, first word. This flat would contain all that and John had never been so proud to show off this home to someone. But even if there was stories to be made in this flat, there were also stories to be told. What an awful lot of incredible bedtime tales this little Hamish would grow up with that was actually true, murders and mysteries. Hopefully he would love those horrors just as much as his fathers.

He rounded the corner and stepped out in the kitchen, already smelling tea in the air and through the mist of the evening sun and dust flying in its rays he saw the two friends sitting by the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that left him was a small whimper of gratitude when he saw their faces. Mrs Hudson in tears with her slender hands pressed to he cheeks, Greg sipping his tea with a joyful smile on his lips. A little sob left the old lady as he sat down beside her, she hadn't even got a chance to see the little creature yet.

"Hold out your arms." he murmured and the sobbing woman did as she was told. The small bundle landed in her arms and her face glowed in the most beautiful human colours when she laid her eyes upon the boy for the first time.

"Oh, John." she whimpered and sniffled as she stroke the little cheek of the sleeping child. "He's just perfect." John kept himself quiet but not disagreeing. His son was perfect. In every way. "He's beautiful."

"Sherlock's asleep?" Greg asked and poured tea into a third cup before pushing it across the table for the tired doctor. John nodded and felt his soul turn into a happy shade of pink as he took the first sip. "So, d'you got a name for the little rascal yet?" With that John knew what kind of nicknames Greg would give the boy, it brought a smile to his face because he knew how much Sherlock would hate it.

"Of course." he answered. "Sherlock was pretty persistent about that part. He never even mentioned it to me before he was born." Mrs Hudson, who swayed back and forth where she sat, turned to him with teared face and sniffled.

"So what will you be calling him then?" This time John was kind, didn't let the anticipation rise in the room before he told them.

"Hamish." he said and touched the little foot that stuck out under the blanket. "He's a Hamish." The old woman beamed up by the name and smothered a sob, fingered the jewellery of her neckless like she always did when she was in a very emotional state.

"Of course he is." she sniffled and continued her swaying. "It's just perfect for him."

"Hamish." Greg tasted the name and licked his lips. "Where did he get that from? Some descendent relative on the Holmes's side I presume?" John chuckled and had to admit that it was a very unusual name these days. And that name did actually come from a relative to the boy, but not from the Holmes's side or from someone descendant, and to be honest John had no idea why Sherlock had chosen that name.  
"No." he answered to Greg question and took another sip of the sweet tea, not taking his eyes of the boy who so peacefully rested in the lady's arms. "It's after me." He wondered if he should thank Sherlock for it or just let it pass and grow away from him to Hamish without anyone noticing. Even if he'd always been a little sceptical about his second name, it just fitted perfectly to this little boy. Hamish Watson-Holmes.

Mrs Hudson swallowed the rest of her tears and looked up at the DI across the table.

"Do you want to hold him, dear?" Greg turned to John, asking for permission and John just nodded. Two second later, Hamish was safely put it Greg's open arms and in the same amount of time the man's face turned from curious to amazed.

"Look at you." he chirped and touched the little nose and chubby cheek. "Aren't you just stunning in every way?" He unfolded the dark green blanket around him and smiled from ear to ear before he squeaked "and you even got a tiny little tea set on your jumper, isn't that just adorable? I bet your daddy got you that, am I right Hay?" And there it was, the proof that Hamish would live through a whole lot of nicknames by the police force, Sherlock would be head over heals if he heard this one. Hay.

* * *

Timed passed, sun set behind the rooftops and Greg returned home, promising to come back in the morning with brunch. He didn't want them to worry about cooking when they both were tired to the bones. Mrs Hudson's soothers eventually kicked in and the retreated to her own flat, leaving John alone in the sitting room with little Hamish on his chest.

He couldn't spend a single moment by sitting, he was pacing the flat, giving his son an insight of home. Showing him everything of importance even if the boy slept and was far to small to understand a single words that he was saying. But he kept on talking with the hope of that Hamish would grow a custom to his voice and find some safety in it.

He showed him their collection of books, told him about the adventures he had to expect when he finally could read. He showed him the mantelpiece, full of different objects that a possible five-year-old would find utterly interesting in the future, all those insects it the boxes and objects from different cases that Sherlock had stolen or received. He showed his the photographs in the wooden frames and presented to him every family member on the pictures. Sadly many of them dead, but John told him about his mother and father, Hamish's grandfather and grandmother and how he wished that they'd lived the day to meet their grandson. The doctor felt his heart ache by the stories he told about them. He wished that their tales didn't have to end, but sadly they did.

Then he showed him the skull, told him the short history he had to offer and said that his dad probably had more to say about him and that the introduction would me more proper when that man was awake. The skull stared back at him with the black hollows of his eyes and John wondered exactly what Sherlock had to tell about it. He looked down at Hamish again, his little cheek pressed again his chest and hand curled up against his chin, he wondered what stories that boy would have to tell about that skull when he grew up as well.

Bowing his head, he kissed his child's forehead and breathed it his sweet smell. He wished that this day would never end. Bouncing on the heels of his feet, a voice was suddenly heard from the bedroom.

"John?"

"Dad's up." he whispered to little Hamish who started to wake up as well. Eyes fluttered open and he cooed silently "I think he misses you." He made his way back into the bedroom, heard the boy continue to make small sounds against his chest and he smiled happily. "Are you talking, love?" he asked and kissed the top of his head. "You sound very happy to finally be on the outside."

Sherlock laid on his side on the bed, half lidded looking out over the dark room and John turned on the table lamp to get a proper look of him. Blood had returned to his face, he had never looked so healthy and beautiful.

"Hi." John chirped and sat down on the bedside, stroke the curls out of his eyes and smiled lovingly. "Do you want little Hamish back?" His boyfriend sighed loudly and nodded as he pushed down the cover to welcome his son to his chest. The boy cooed tiredly when he landed in the warmth of his father and Sherlock carefully put his arms around his small body.

"Hello." he whispered and played with the dark strands of hair. "I almost forgot you existed for a bit." John chuckled and fell to his knees beside the bed to get a better view of them both. Entwining their hands on their son's back he felt the weakness Sherlock still suffered of, he clearly needed more rest but he could understand that he wanted to keep himself awake. Just like him, Sherlock wanted to savour the moment of having something so small and alive in the flat.

"Did you miss him?" he asked and rubbed circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. Sherlock chuckled but nodded truthfully as he traced a finger around Hamish's tiny ear. "I'll go make him another bottle. We should get some sleep when he've eaten."

Sleep, yes, sleep was good. It had been many years since the detective had been this tired. Since the adrenaline stopped pumping he was left with a puddle of a vessel in the bed, useless and painful that couldn't do much more than just lie here. On top of that his belly was still warm by the soup, warm blankets and he had a warm baby on his chest just making it harder not to drift off. Sadly this was nearly the end of Hamish's birthday, now he would be served his evening meal and then be put in his cot for sleep. Sherlock hated that outcome.

"He's sleeping between us." he murmured and took the little hand resting underneath the double chin. "I don't want him to sleep alone." And John could actually not argue with that. Even if the boy didn't understand anything of what was going on around him, neither of his fathers could bare the thought of him lying by himself two feet away from them. They wanted him close, they wanted to make sure he was breathing properly and they wanted to be there for him as soon as possible when they were needed.

"He can sleep in the bedding of the stroller between us." John said and pressed his lips to Sherlock's shoulder while they both were hypnotised and unable to take their eyes of the little being. "Just so we don't squash him in our sleep." The detective snickered and agreed.

"That would be terribly awful." he murmured and kissed his sons head. "Go make him some dinner. We'll be here." And with that John knew Sherlock was back in normal routines again. Smug and irritable. John loved that part about him just as much as he loved his romantic and playful side and he kissed him deeply before he left the room to follow orders.

Sherlock was left alone with the child and he looked down on the tiny face. He smelled like tea, mrs Hudson's perfume, Greg's aftershave and the most welcomed smell, John. He took a deep breath of all the scents hidden beneath the sweetness of Hamish's own fragrance and could tell that he's already been in every room of the flat except upstairs.

"Daddy's been showing you around." he whispered with lips brushing against the velvety hair. "Did he show you anything of importance or just boring stuff?" Then he told him about all the things he would show him tomorrow. The chemistry-set in the wardrobe that he had as a kid, which belonged to Hamish now, the collections of items from different cases, his books and most importantly, he would show him the skull. They needed to be introduced to each other as soon as possible so the skull could be just as much of a friend to Hamish as it had been to him. They went a long way back and the story about it was worth telling to a boy of age. Sadly Sherlock would have to wait a couple of years to do that but he would eventually.

He promised him that he would play the violin to him and excused himself for not playing enough these passed months, saying that he didn't blame him for giving his father so swollen fingers so he couldn't.

"And all the cases..." he continued and got back to stroking the boy's cheek. "Some adventures you'll be having. Catching killers and hunt criminals, solving mysteries. I call it work but it's mostly just for fun. Lucky for you you've got a father like me so you can start early. People will listen to you."

"He'll be very spoiled in those areas I presume." John laughed as he entered the room with the bootle in his hand. "I can't wait to read the articles about the four-year-old boy who put a serial killer behind bars." Sherlock gave him a dark chuckle but didn't take his eyes of his son.

"Our boy will be a proper genius." he said with pride. "I'm sure his IQ will be higher than Anderson's the day he takes his first step." John laughed and stripped down to t-shirt and pants before joining him in bed.

"With a father like you I don't doubt that for a second."

* * *

**Thank you for earlier reviews. More are always welcome. **


	4. Hamish's sibling

**I wasn't really planning to write another chapter but then I felt the urge to give Hamish a sibling... So i did. **

**Here you go, a long as hell chapter that might be continued, but only maybe. **

* * *

When Hamish turned four Sherlock revealed to John that he thought he was pregnant again. He'd suffered terrible fall in blood pressure then and now and the last two mornings he'd been throwing up like a drunkard once more and couldn't keep anything down. Smells were different, migraines seemed to attack him every time a strong odour reached his nose and John frowned the day Sherlock told him while making Hamish his evening snack.  
"Are you sure?" he asked and and closed the lid on the jam. "Maybe it's just the heat." Sherlock pursed his lips and lowered his gaze to his flat stomach, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside by the thought that he might be pregnant again. He remembered how it was with Hamish, those small little kicks and flutters, the feeling of carrying something so small and alive. He missed the times when Hamish was small, when he could cradle him to his chest and he didn't do much more than eat and sleep. There was nothing more he wanted than to feel all that once more.  
"Yes." he murmured and bit back his smile. "I've been feeling faint for days." His husband opened his mouth to answer him when they were interrupted by quick feet down the stairs and Hamish hurried into the kitchen with a piece of paper in his hand.

"I found it! Look!" He jumped up in Sherlock's arms an he managed to lift him up, even if didn't really have the strength and put him down on the counter. His son held put the diploma he'd been given in school for best science project and the detective gazed upon it with much pride. "I thought I lost it on my way home but it had slipped between the pages of Harry Potter. Look dad!"

"That's brilliant, handsome!" he exclaimed and the young boy stared at him in shock, he wasn't used to making his dad this proud.

"Really!?" he laughed and kicked his small feet to the cabined.

"Of course it is!" Sherlock laughed and stroke his fingers through Hamish's nest of dark hair. The curls hadn't been past down to him but he had inherited John's messy hair but it was just as dark as Sherlock's, soft and silky and the detective would never get tired of stroking it.

"We should have that framed!" John smiled and cut the crusts of the sandwich before spilling it in half. The boy's eyes was glittering in pride and he reached out his arms for Sherlock.  
"Dad! Let's frame it!"

Life at baker street had truly changed since Hamish entered the world. There had never been so much playtime, snacking and cuddling in the flat before and Sherlock had grown into the role as a parent quicker than ever. Somehow he'd managed to find an interest in Hamish much alike the interest he had for solving crimes. To him, Hamish was something that needed to be solved. Every day was filled with mysteries and laughter as Sherlock tried to find different way to play with him. He left puzzles, treasure hunts and riddles all over the house just to see how Hamish would solve the problems and he was always amazed how quickly the boy learned. He would be a good detective in the future. Maybe an other child would give him the social skills he never had in his age. In Sherlock's case, his brother was way to old when he was born, they never really played without Mycroft thinking everything was childish or tedious. He didn't want Hamish to go through the same. Four might just be the perfect age to become an older brother.

* * *

John ran out the house while Sherlock was left with i tired Hamish in the sofa watching House. The boy loved doctor shows and Sherlock could withstand them. The boy pointed out every time the story had a plot hole and threw out deductions if the patients was lying or not and the detective listened with interest as he spoke. He was a clever boy for his age and it wasn't only the diploma now framed on the the wall that could prove it. The room upstairs wasn't only a bedroom, it was also a trophy room with every price he'd won at spelling bees, math competitions and even domestic science. There was so many abilities hidden in his small vessel it never seemed to end.

Sherlock looked down on his son sitting in his lap, leaning against his chest with hand buried in his curls and smiled as his face split in two by the yawn, he shuffled him a little closer and buried his nose in his hair.

"Dad." he mumbled and nuzzled close to his neck, smelled his skin and felt safe in his arms. "We talked about you in school today?"

"Really?" he questioned and broke his gaze with the telly. "Why?"

"We talked about parents and their jobs. No one believed me when I said you were a detective. They didn't think those jobs existed except on telly. The detective laughed and cradled his head.  
"And what did you say?"

"That they were stupid." he answered and the detective chuckled darkly. "Then Mrs. Turner said it was true and that shut them up." He lifted his head and looked him straight in the eye. "Can I bring you for show and tell? No one's seen a detective in my class before." Just as hi father, he was determined to show of that he was right. If people didn't believe him he needed to prove them right and Sherlock could not turn down the opportunity to help his boy.

"I guess." he smiled. "As long as I don't have to answer stupid questions."  
"I can answer does." Hamish smiled and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Thank you dad!"

They heard the heavy steps in the stairs and John appeared with a grocery bag in his left hand and he shot Sherlock a look. He asked Hamish to stay behind in the sofa as he hurried out in the kitchen and his husband swallowed nervously as he held out three packages. Sherlock stared at them and took them with shaking hands.

"What do we do if they're positive?" he asked in a whisper so Hamish wouldn't hear them and Sherlock frowned.

"What d'you mean?" he asked and John sighed as he pressed his lips together and glanced to the sitting room.

"I mean do you wan't another child? Do we have the time." But Sherlock could see the anticipation hidden his those blue eyes and all Sherlock could do was excuse himself and leave for the bathroom. He didn't want to talk about it until they had more facts or neither get their hopes up if this was a false alarm.

The tests landed on the counter and he pulled up the first one, read the instructions quickly before pulling up the next two and making himself ready. He used them all up at once and, popped the caps back on before placing them back on the counter and washing his hands. Two minute. In two minutes time those sticks would determine how their upcoming months and lives would turn out.

He waited on his own, listened to how John and Hamish talked in the sitting room and Sherlock got lost in his mind. Another baby? How wonderful that would be to feel that new baby smell, the soft skin and velvet hair. The warmth that spread in his chest as he held Hamish the first time was the most powerful thing he'd ever felt and he wondered if it would feel the same this time. If there now was a 'this time'. He took a deep breath and looked down on his flat stomach again, brushed his thumb back and forth over his abdomen and felt how his cheeks started to burn. Oh how he hoped there was someone in there.

The minutes had passed and he looked over at the three stick lying on the counter. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? This family business had truly made him into an emotional man. He picked up the first stick and held it steadily in his hand, hoping, demanding that it would be positive and he pulled back the cap.

Two pink lines.

A spark of hope nested in his stomach, but he needed to keep it burning. He popped up the next cap.

Two pink lines. A small chuckle left his lips and he felt the tears threatening to fall. One more test. Oh please little test.

Two pink lines.

"Oh my..." he exclaimed under his breath and his eyes welled up with fresh tears, couldn't even remember the last time he cried. This was happening and that little spark was now burning inside him and spread out in every loin and part of the brain. He pressed his big hand to his stomach and smiled from ear to ear when he thought about what was hiding in there. Eyes drifted closed for a second as he thought about the future. No home delivery this time, that's for sure. He laughed and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. It had been a long time since he felt this happy. How would he break this to John.

One of the tests was hidden in his pocket as he unlocked the door and quietly padded out in the kitchen. Tears still flowing and the sobs caught in his throat. He stopped where no one could see him and took a deep, quivering breath.

"John?" he trembled and gathered himself so he wouldn't look weak, but his head was filled with such a great happiness not even he new what to do with it. Small footsteps was heard and soon John appeared in the broad door, face blank and ready for any reaction that might come. But as soon as they laid eyes upon each other Sherlock couldn't hold back the small sob and he smiled as he cried and nodded. John staggered across the floor and gathered him in his arms, breathed him in and supported him in this deep emotional state.

"Oh Sherlock." he whispered happily and pressed his lips to his temple. "It's really happening, isn't it?" He nodded again, whimpering and sniffling to his strong shoulder. Eyes closed he could feel John shaking, probably just as shocked as him but just as much happiness filling him. "I love you."

Sherlock chuckled and nodded, unable to speak at the moment but he lifted his head and kissed his John, his doctor, his beloved husband. He already knew.

* * *

They decided to tell Hamish with a sonogram, to let him guess as he saw the black and white picture and just to see him ponder about it. The picture was hidden in an envelope with his name on it, placed on the table together with his breakfast as he entered the sitting room with hair messy and scratching his head. None of his parents said a word as he sat down and stared blankly at the boiled egg and scone, too tired to care what was on his plate.

"Good morning, handsome." Sherlock greeted him and was answered with a big yawn. "Sleep well?" He nodded and picked up his spoon when he suddenly saw the envelope.

"What's this?" he asked and picked it up, read his name before he turned it over.

"I have no idea." John answered and bit down on his scone. They boy tilted his head and ripped in open, pulled out the black and white photo and stared at it for a long time with eyebrows furrowed together.

"What is it?" he asked again and looked up at his father with that small wrinkle on his forehead.

"That is your little sister or brother." Sherlock answered with a dark voice and Hamish looked only more confused. He turned to the picture again and stared at it for a few second.

"But.." he started and looked up at John. "Where is he or she now?" The doctor chuckled and swallowed his tea, smiled from ear to ear as he reached out to stroke Hamish's hair.  
"In dad's tummy." he answered and the boy turned to Sherlock with big eyes and the detective stroke a hand over his abdomen.

"Right here." he said happily and Hamish's smile blossomed on his lips.

"I'm gonna be a big brother!?" he asked in a gasp as things started to clear in his head.  
"Yes." Sherlock chuckled and the boy was suddenly wide awake were he sat.

"Really!" He jumped down on the floor and flew up in Sherlock's arms, hugged his neck and blabbered out every thing that came to mind. Every name he could he could think of was suggested and every game he and his sibling was gonna play was listed clearly and the detective listened with interest as he held him close. But Hamish also had questions.

"When will it be here?" he asked and placed a small hand below Sherlock's bellybutton.

"Well." Sherlock began and joined his little hand, stroke his fingers and looked over at John who was biting his lips hard so he would cry. "It needs to grow for a couple of months now. But sometime in august we believe. Can you wait that long?" The boy pursed his lips for a second as he thought about it and Sherlock chuckled. "You'll be able to feel it though. Before it comes he's gonna kick and move and I'm pretty sure I won't have my tummy to myself then." Hamish looked a little happier with that and looked up at him again, eyes glistening and cheeks blushing in joy.

"I hope it's a sister." he said. "There are to many boys living here." It was John's turn to chuckle, he hadn't said a word on a long time now and Hamish fell with his head to Sherlock's chest, nuzzled close and looked at his papa.

"Did you know about this?" he asked and John swallowed his mouth of tea.

"It was a surprise to me to." he smiled happily and cleaned his mouth on the napkin. "I never thought we would have another child."

"Aren't you happy?" Hamish asked in fear and John almost jumped out of his seat when he heard it.

"Are you kidding!?" he exclaimed. "I'm delighted!"

* * *

Time moved quickly after that and Hamish was head over heals when they told him he could be the one to inform their friend and family. They hardly came to the end of the sentence before he dashed out of the flat and down the stairs. A minute later a shocked mrs Hudson entered their him with the boy in her arms, ready to cry as she got the information confirmed. Of course she cried.

The woman that never cried in fear or sorrow let out all the tears as joy overwhelmed her. Sherlock didn't like it one bit but for her he didn't have the heart to complain. He gathered the old woman in her arms and held her like the mother she was for him, bowed his head to accept the kiss on his cheek and mrs Hudson nearly squealed in pure joy.

"Oh dear." she beamed and wiped her tears with her slender hand. "Make sure to eat well, Sherlock. You need all the energy you can get now."

"I know. I know." he smiled and picked up his son that pulled his gown, placed him on his hip and kissed the top of his head. "Hamish and I share the same snack times now a days, don't we handsome?" Hamish nodded and twisted his fingers in his curls.

"Daddy eats more than I ever seen him do before." he told his granny. "He even joins us during dinner." Hamish had never been so happy about his home as now. His father had joined them in much things lately. Dinner and breakfast had always been with only himself and John while Sherlock worked or slept. Because that man hardly slept during the night, until now. Hamish who always woke up around one a'clock had the habit of sneaking down the stairs, past a pondering Sherlock and slip down under the cover next to his papa. But these last couple of nights Sherlock hadn't been in the sitting room, but in bed next to John with arms wrapped around each other. It was the best thing in the world to crawl down between them both and snuggle close to his dad, smell his neck and twist his curls. It wasn't very often he had the privilege to do that and he cherished every second of it.

He pressed a pair of lips to Sherlock's cheek and wrapped his arms around his neck and the detective nearly melted. He was easily touched with all those hormones messing about and he held his boy tight, saw mrs. Hudson grasp for her neckless in adoration and wipe a couple of more tickling tears before she reached out and caressed Hamish's arm.

"Are you happy, dear? Having a brother or sister." He just nodded, kissed his father again and tugged his hair as he giggled.

"I think it's a girl." he said and placed his tired head on Sherlock's shoulder.  
"Do you now?" Sherlock murmured and swayed back and forth were he stood in the middle of the sitting room wile John was making them tea. "How can you be so sure?" The boy beamed and held on tight to the gown.

"Because I want it to be."

* * *

Greg was another story. He bashed in to the flat, snow in his hair and shoulders and stopped frozen in the door. On the sofa was a sight he'd never seen before. Sherlock sprawled out on the sofa, Hamish lying on top of him and both sleeping deeper than the DI had ever seen the detective done before.

"Oh, hello." John murmured from his armchair while tapping on his computer and a cup of tea steaming next to him. The DI just stared, cleaned his shoes on the rug before stepping inside. He signed to the sofa and turned to John with a questioning face.  
"He's sleeping?" he asked and furrowed his brow as he stepped closer to the two armchairs and smothered his wet hair. "I don't think I've ever seen him do that." The doctor smiled and stood up from his armchair.

"Tea?" he asked and folded his laptop.

"I-I don't think I have the time." he answered, picked up his phone and sighed. "I really needed Sherlock's help but.. I guess it can wait. Maybe he can call me when he's woken up." John chuckled and went over to the sofa.

"I guess he could." he said and placed a hand on Hamish's shoulder. "Just, Hamish has something he wanna tell you first. He's been waiting for days." He unfolded Sherlock's arms around the little body and gave him a light shake. "Handsome?" The boy stirred and fluttered his eyes open. "Guess who's here." He cooed silently and reached out a arm for John to pick him up and he gathered him in his arms. The dark hair tickled his cheek and he brought him over to Greg who always beamed up when he saw the little boy.

"Hello, Hay!" he grinned and reached out to caress his back as the boy started to wake up properly in his father's arms. "Long time no see." Hamish scratched his head and yawned loudly as he was passed over to his uncles arms. "How've you been?" Greg kissed his forehead and stroke his hair.

"Fine." he answered and started to wake up more and more in his arms. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay." Greg smiled and swayed back and forth on the carpet, already forgotten what he came for. "I'm all ears." Hamish snuffled and looked him straight in the eye.

"I'm having a little sister." he murmured and the DI's eyes grew into saucers and his eyebrows disappeared under his grey hair.

"Oh my god, really?" he exclaimed and looked up at John who rubbed a hand across his cheek.  
"Yeah." he grinned. "Or a little brother. We don't know yet."

"It's a sister." Hamish said decidedly. "I know so."

"You do?" Greg laughed and ruffled his hair. "Then you're probably right." Hamish giggled and wrapped his arms around his neck, nuzzled close to his shoulder.

"Are you staying for tea, Greg?" he asked and wouldn't let go of his uncle, he wanted him to stay for as long as possible as usual. The DI sighed and looked up at John who grinned.

"I guess one cup wouldn't hurt." he answered and followed the doctor out to the kitchen and left the sleeping detective on the sofa. He seated himself by the table and placed Hamish in his lap, continued to stroke his hair while John heated some water.

"So are you two sharing room then?" he asked and and the boy pulled back to reach for his robot that stood on the table with shoulders armed with cannons. "Or will she be with daddy and papa?" Hamish opened the robots chest and folded its arms and legs until it turned into a helicopter because he new that Greg always put an interest in his toys, he was very proud about this robot. "Holy! Is that a transformer?"

"Yes!" he nodded eagerly and placed it in his hand. "It can't fly though. Very disappointing." The DI laughed and grasped it by the tail.

"Of course it can!" he said and made a swooshing sound as he waved it above their head, making the boy giggle. "Oh no! It's closing in! Look out!" It crashed into Hamish's chest, making his nephew squeal in utter joy that someone was playing with him in such a childish level for once. Grownups looked so silly like this and he didn't know what was funnier, the game or Greg. "Show me how to turn it into a robot again. After a few seconds of tinkering it was a fully armed battle droid once more and Greg looked at the colourful toy in his small hands. "Well, now it can't fly. Can it?"

"Stupid, he doesn't have propellers now, does it?"

"Hamish." John said warningly from the counter and Hamish blushed when he realised what he'd said but did not look ashamed.

"Sorry, Greg." he said without really meaning it and wriggled himself down in the floor. "I have some other toys. D'you wanna see them?" The eager going all out in his fingertips and eyes glittering he didn't wait for an answer but dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"He's a little bundle of energy, isn't he." Greg laughed as John started to set the table with teacups and a tray of biscuits. The doctor grinned and fetched the kettle to serve them before he finally joined him.

"Yes, he's always up to something during the hours and then he collapse for and hour. Then it stats all over again until it's bedtime. Worst part of the day is when he gets hold of sugar." he said and rolled his eyes. The sound of quick feet was heard and soon Hamish entered the kitchen once more with another transformer, a t-rex and a rubber snake.

"Look at that!" Greg exclaimed and helped him to place them on the table. "Wow!" The boy crawled up in his lap again and showed him the toys, explained everything about them. Their names, things they could do, even the basic information about the rubber black mamba and the effects of it's poison and about the t-rex's doom and diet when a silent groan was heard from the sitting room. Not before long Sherlock padded around the corner with the curls tangled together and clothes wrinkled and twisted around his lank body.

"Hello detective inspector." he mumbled under his breath and moved over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk.

"Good evening consulting detective." Greg chuckled and bounced Hamish on his knee. "I believe congratulations are in order." Sherlock sighed and swallowed a mouth full of milk.

"I suppose they are." he answered with a smiled and leaned back to the counter. "No later than august according to the doctors."

"Greg!" Hamish yelled after he'd lost his attention and his uncle returned to him quickly. Listened to him as he continued to tell him about his birthday presents and Sherlock watched them quietly from where he stood. He would never understand why Greg didn't have kids by now, he was brilliant with them. That man could cheer that boy up quicker than anyone he'd ever met and Hamish could during their rows threaten them with that he was going to mover to the DI. He was much more nice, at least when his parents weren't. Sherlock hoped that their new child and Greg would have the same connection.

* * *

Then he started to show. A small swell under his navel and constant fluttering that only he could feel and he felt so warm inside every time it happened. The first time it happened was during he's morning shower. The hot water cascaded over him when a small pop occurred, he thought of it no more after deducing it was an upset stomach, but it continued constantly during the day after that. Then he started to understand as it started to flutter and he pressed a hand to his swell while lying on his back in the sofa pondering about todays news. He started to recognize it from when he carried Hamish and he beamed up like the sun itself where he laid.

"John?" he murmured under his breath and roamed the room, quickly remembering that his husband was working so he picked up his phone.

**I can feel it - SH**

He placed the phone on his chest and curled up his shirt to his bellybutton and looked at the small bump.

**Feel what? - John**

**What do you think? - SH**

It took a couple of minutes before John replied and he sat up to make himself a cup of tea and a sandwich when his phone beeped again.

**Is it kicking? - John**

**More like fluttering. When are you coming home? - SH**

**Around three. Going to the store first. Want something? - John. **

**Need milk and butter. Buy me ice cream. - SH **

* * *

"Is it kicking!?" Hamish shrieked when he ran into the sitting room in his school uniform and bag on his back. "Is it?" Sherlock barely caught him as he jumped up in his arms and flung his arms around his neck. John had of course told him on the way home and Hamish took him by the hand and pulled his arm as hard as he could to hurry home, he wanted proof of this. "Can I feel!?"

John dragged his feet to the sofa and feel on his stomach, surgery had been going on for a long time and sleep was clearly needed after been awake for twenty-four hours straight.

"Go to bed, John." he begged and took the grocery bag on the floor and brought it to the kitchen with Hamish on his hip. "I'm sad to inform you, handsome, that your little sibling doesn't kick hard enough for you to feel it yet."

"What?" Hamish whined and gave him a pout. "Why?" He put him down on the counter and the bag next to him.

"Because it has to grow a little bigger first. Its feet are still tiny." But the boy didn't seem happy with that answer.

"But you can feel it! That's not fair!" he complained and help his father to unpack the bag.

"Oh, I think it's perfectly fair." Sherlock smiled. "She's the one giving me bad moods, making me throw up, swelling up my fingers and ankles and not to talk about my tummy. I think i deserve to have her to myself a little." Hamish pursed his lips and nodded in agreement, maybe it wasn't so unfair after all. "Now." Sherlock pulled up the tub of the bag. "What d'you say about ice cream?"

The disappointment was quickly forgotten with those words and he nodded fanatically. "John!? Ice cream!?"

"No!"

"More for us then." he smiled and found two spoons in the drawer. "C'mon." He lifted the boy up and hurried over to the armchair, turned on the telly and opened the lid of the tub. "Not to much." he said as Hamish dug his first spoon of the toffy ice cream. "It's not a saturday you know."

"How come you got a big spoon?" Hamish asked as he compared their two cutlers.

"Because I'm bigger." Sherlock answered and licked his dollop of ice cream.

"That doesn't make any sense." Hamish giggled but didn't complain. At least he was allowed to have sweets on a thursday and choose the channel, animal planet. Sherlock would never understand his fascination for the wild and creatures, neither in robots or fantasy. Those kid-shows had always been disturbing to the detective, wild and filled with plot holes, luckily Hamish didn't like them as much as his classmates did.

"Dad." he murmured and snaked a sticky hand into his curls. "My friends think you're weird?"

"Hm?" It wasn't really news to Sherlock, everyone he new had told him at least once and he didn't even care about it anymore.

"They say men shouldn't be able to have babies but mrs Turner proved them wrong. I like her, she's always proving them wrong when I can't do it." Sherlock smiled and rested his temple on top of Hamish's head. "Is it true that the chance is minimal?"

The detective thought back to the time when John brought him to the hospital all those years ago, when they found out about this little boy and his heart skipped a beat by the memory. How he'd gone from hating to loving the little cell inside him in seconds and how glad he became when he realised how lucky he was. That he was able to carry children of his own. Every moment with Hamish resting in his abdomen was wonderful, just knowing that he was there, growing and safe was the most beautiful feeling he'd ever felt.

"One in three-thousand." he answered. "Me and papa are very lucky." He sighed and thought back on the first time he held his newborn son. How that little creature squirmed and screamed on his chest and limbs flailing. He's never seen something so small and fragile that had the power to wrap itself around ones heart so tightly. He turned his head to the sofa where John laid on his stomach, snoring quietly and face buried in the pillow. It was hard to believe that John was the man who pulled Hamish from him, placed him on his chest and had helped him through it all. He wondered what it would be like this time.

"Daddy." the boy chuckled out of nowhere and dug another spoon.

"Yes."

"You said she."

* * *

It was an early summer night and the sun was hiding behind the horizon with a pale shine when John woke up in his bed by an odd sound. From his side there was small whimpers, moans of pain and he rolled over on his back to find a Sherlock soaked in cold sweat and wriggling under the duvet.

"Sherlock?" he gulped and reached for his hand that was pinned to the bed. "Sherlock?" The whimpers became louder and the detective uttered a loud whine and buried the side of his face in the pillow. Nightmares. John knew exactly how these fits worked out and he threw himself for the light switch. Light was good. The detective was pale as death, hair in a wet mess and every limb shaking in pure fear. John sat up and cupped his quivering shoulders. "Sherlock! wake up!" He let out a smothered scream and behind clenched teeth and John gathered him in his arms and cradled his head to his shoulder. "C'mon love. You're scaring me. Wake up!" Eyes shot open and he roamed the room in panic as John rocked him in his arms, still screaming. "Sherlock!?"

"John!" he cried and flailed his arm over John's chest. "Don't let go of him!"

"Okay!" John answered quickly. "Okay! I won't. But you need to wake up! Look at me!" He cupped his jaw and forced him to meet his face. "Sherlock?" Still whimpering and trembling, his eyes fluttered and ever so soon his blown pupils managed to focus. A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows and he looked at John with much confusion. "Are you with me, love?" He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes again.

"Bad dream." he mumbled and let his head rest on John's arm.

"Are you kidding?" John asked him with a calming smile. "That's the worst I've ever seen from you. Are you okay?" He brushed away the soaked curls from his forehead and held a sharp eye on him, just in case.

"Yes." he sighed and nuzzled his chest.

"D'you want to talk about it?" Sherlock bundled up his face and pressed himself close to John, let out a sobbing whimper and shook his head. "Okay, let it be then." He twisted some of his curls on his head and pressed his lips to his forehead. "It's over now. I've got you."

"Dad?"

John turned his head to the door and saw their frightened son hiding behind the corner. The screaming must have woken him and he reached out a hand to wave him over. He stepped up in bed and ran over the mattress to hold his father. The small hands touched Sherlock's cheek and he took a deep breath and looked up.

"Hamish." he whimpered and pulled him into a weak hug. "I've never been so glad to see you." Ever so carefully John brought him back in bed again, rubbed his arm and their boy rested on his father's chest.

"Did you have a nightmare, daddy?" he asked worriedly and snaked a hand into his hair to twist his curls. The tears continued to fall and Sherlock hooked his hands under the boy's arms and pulled him closer to his neck and kissed his puffy cheek.

"Yeah." he whispered and John crawled close to his family and held them both, placed a soft hand on the swell of Sherlock's belly and his husband started to calm completely in their arms. "A bad one."

"What was it about?" Hamish continued and slunk down between his parents with his head on Sherlock's shoulder and his dark hair in every possible direction.

"I don't want to talk about it." he answered with a groan and rubbed his side when John suddenly gasped.

"Hamish!" he beamed and took his little hand to press it to Sherlock's bump and the detective looked down on his belly. "Right here. Can you feel that?" He placed his hand on top of Hamish's and the boy stared in confusion when he finally felt a little prod. "There!"

"You felt it?" Sherlock asked tiredly but with a broad smile on his lips. Hamish nodded and looked up at his father with big blue eyes.

"Was that a kick?" he asked with a small giggle and all Sherlock could do was nod and he fell back on the pillow with a loud sigh.

"Yes." he beamed. "That's a tiny, little foot." Hamish squeaked and crawled down until he could press his ear against the bump and listen. Sherlock had never felt so fuzzy and warm inside and he held back a weak whimper in amazement as his children interacted for the first time. Hamish and the new baby finally had a connection.

"Hi baby." Hamish chimed and pressed his lips to the big bump. "What are you doing in there?"

"Acrobatics." Sherlock giggled referring to the major backflips she'd done the last couple of days. "Kicking and hiccuping." Hamish gasped and lifted his head.

"She has hiccups!?" he exclaimed and and pressed both hands to his stomach. "Really!?"

"Yes." John laughed and crawled a little closer, let Sherlock place his head on his shoulder. "Amazing isn't it?" It kicked again and Hamish placed his ear back and stared at Sherlock with so much anticipation it was about to shoot out through his fingers.

"She's kicking me in the cheek." he giggled and Sherlock laughed tiredly and caught himself in a feeling of pure fondness. Everything, for once, felt perfect. Morning sickness had passed, baby was healthy, Hamish and John had for the first time felt their upcoming family member present him or herself to them and he forgot quickly about the nightmare and just melted into their touch and let Hamish continue to listen and receive the kicks his little sibling gave.

* * *

After that he never got his stomach to himself. Hamish was like a bandaid, always there with a hand to press to his warm skin and Sherlock set up some rules. Not touching while thinking, not when eating and not while experimenting, otherwise his hand was always welcome and the best moments where before bed. Sherlock would crawl down beside Hamish in his little bed with a book in his hand, reading quietly while the boy caressed his swell and head leaned to his chest. That alone made Hamish drift off in minutes and Sherlock had never seen something so efficient to knock that boy out. It was like the bump had superpower on both Hamish and John. It made them happy, sleepy, excited for John it could even be arousing. That part Sherlock enjoyed the most.

But it was getting bigger. Bloody huge. Not according to John, though, who thought it was impossible that a seven-month foetus could fit in there and Sherlock took it as a compliment. John was an honest man. But then again to terrified to set of any of Sherlock hormonal outbursts that could make the whole Baker Street think it was under the threat of war. Luckily it only occurred when Hamish wasn't close, Sherlock just bundled up all the anger and sadness until he walked out the door to visit a friend or have a sleepover at Lestrade and then hell would break loose two minutes later. John was used to it by now, had his tricks to calm the crazed detective and the rows would almost always end with Sherlock laughing with tears in his eyes or tangled up in bed. Sometimes John wondered if he did it on purpose just because he was to proud of himself just to ask for pleasure.

So, seven months. Heat. Incredibly annoying heat all over London and every morning Sherlock would spend ten minutes in front of the open fridge. John had never seen him so tormented and suffered with him every time he tried to walk the heat off, which of course is impossible. The time the thermometer hit 36 degrees he spent the whole afternoon crying, just begging for this to be over and John just wanted to hold him but his body heat would only make it worse. So he did the next best thing he could do.

Sherlock still pouted when he came back, sniffling and wiping his nose on a paper towel while watching a documentary about native mysteries from the sofa, wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

"Hello." John greeted him with a big smile and placed the bag on the side table. "Okay?"

"No." he sniffled and rubbed his eye. "I have to change seat every fifteen minutes because where every I seat it gets to hot after a while. It's hateful, John. And where have you been!?" He shot him a look of sparks and anger and John reached down in the bag.

"I've got you ice cream." he said and held out the big tub. "Apple cider sorbet." Sherlock looked at the tub and John feared he would break out in new tears by just the wonderful sight of something cold. He placed it on the table. "And I got you those lemon fairy cakes you like." He placed the beside the tub and reached down in the bag again. "And jelly ice pack." Three plastic bags filled with blue goo landed was in his hands and Sherlock just stared at them, still pouting. "C'mere." John plopped down beside him in the sofa and placed one of the bags on top of his stomach and the detective gave him a calm hiss. The second one wrapped around his neck and the last on his head and Sherlock didn't care how ridiculous it looked. He sighed happily and gripped to the bag on his bump.

"Thank you." he smiled and sniffled again and John pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Move them around when it gets to cold. Don't want you to get frostbites." Sherlock just nodded and John got up and trotted to the kitchen. "Ice tea!?"

"Yes." Sherlock called back and leaned back in the sofa and moved the one from his neck to the small of his back.

"I bought three ice packs more. So when those goes warm we can just change, okay?" John informed him and Sherlock nearly cried in happiness. His husband was a bloody genius on taking care of people, he would never reveal that to him.

Then John joined him again and Sherlock could almost handle to cuddle despite the heat. They shared the sorbet equally according to Sherlock. Eighty percent for him and twenty for John, they sipped the ice tea and when the documentary was over the next one started. John laughed when he realised it was about the penguins and masses of snow and ice appeared on their telly. That's when Sherlock started to shiver of cold. Stomach full of ice cream and ice tea and ice packs every where. he never thought that was possible in this heat.

* * *

In the middle of july it started to rain. A damned monsoon drove over the city and the rain never seemed to stop. Hamish was beside himself, accidentally seen the catastrophe movie about London being washed over by the ocean and he thought the story was coming true. He demanded that they should buy life wests, food supplies and when he remembered that his sibling would be here soon he panicked.

"We can't take care of a little baby if the whole town will be covered in water!" he shouted and John while he was making dinner. "She can't swim! What are we gonna do! It's madness!"

"Hamish." John grinned and reminded him all over again that it was only a movie but the boy wouldn't hear it.

"But what if it's true, papa! You can't foresee the future. And dad said that the end will come sooner or later!"

"I didn't mean today, Hamish!" Sherlock shouted from the living room. "I only meant that nothing lasts forever, everything ends sometimes. We have a super volcano bubbling in America that might..."

"Sherlock!" John shouted and turned from the stove. Sherlock was always making his mistakes worse. "Shut up!" and the detective closed his mouth

"What!?" Hamish shrieked. "What volcano!? What!?" The boy pulled his hair by the roots and John picked him up and placed him on the counter.

"Hamish." he said and cupped his shoulders. "Nothing's gonna happen."  
"But..."

"Is there anything out there that your daddy or me hasn't fixed." he asked and the boy with a very small ounce of knowledge about the outside world was very blissful about all the threats and problems. He shook his head. "Exactly." John smiled. "So what d'you have to worry about?" Hamish opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again but not a sound came out. "Precisely. Now. Ask daddy if you two can make the bed together. You sister is coming any day now and she can't sleep on the bare board of the cot, can she?" Hamish shook his head and sighed, the fear had suddenly left him and John sat him down on the floor again.

"Dad!" he ran as quick as he could to the armchair and saw his father with the laptop balanced on his bump. "We need to make the bed." He looked up from the screen with eyebrows furrowed together by the deep concentration.

"Five minutes."

"Now!" Hamish repeated. "She could be here any day."

"Not in the next five minutes." Sherlock answered and tilted his head as he turned back to the computer but Hamish grabbed hold of his arms.

"Please! I want to!" There was no way Sherlock could say no to that face of his, big glittering eyes and a wide smile and he sighed loudly before nodding.

"Alright." he said and grabbed hold of the armrest to push himself up which was nearly impossible. He groaned and just managed to get on his feet as Hamish started to pull him by the arm. "But then I need a rest." He waddled heavily through the kitchen and John caught him for a quick kiss and belly rub which Hamish wouldn't allow. There was a bed to be made and he had been waiting for that a long time.

"Dad! No time for kissing!" he shouted and the detective, despite his back pain, picked the boy up and held him to his chest, he could nearly sit on his belly.

"There's always time for kissing." he lied and pressed his lips to his cheek and Hamish giggled. "And one for papa." John leaned in and kissed the boy's cheek and he was stuck between them, laughing and blushing.

"Stop it! I don't like kissing!"

"Yes you do." Sherlock smirked and continued to waddle to the bedroom with Hamish in his arms and an aching back. "No point in lying it doesn't work on me." The reached the bedroom where the cot was placed by the end of the bed, Hamish had quite a shock when they told him he'd slept in it once. To him it was tiny, there was no way he once fit in it but then John had folded him up and put him down in the cot. He just fit, and he screamed in laughter as they started to rock him. "Okay." he groaned and put Hamish down on the floor and pressed a hand to the small of his back. "The bet sets are in the bottom drawer, you can choose which ever you like."

As Hamish ran over to the bureau while Sherlock sat down on the bedside, rubbing his back and felt the baby take a uncomfortable turn and kick to his back with her hear tucked under his lungs. He pressed down on her back and took a deep breath, begging her to turn.

"Are you okay, daddy?" He opened his eyes he never realised he'd closed and saw his son standing with the set in his arms.

"Yes, of course." he sighed and pressed a hand to his side. "She's just moving around." Hamish freed his hands and pressed them to his bump, stood quiet for a second as he felt for kicks and movements.

"She's very big now. How will she get out?" he asked and Sherlock opened his mouth to speak exactly the truth but stopped himself just in time. For a second he pondered about an appropriate answer.

"She um.." he started and scoffed. "The doctors will help me. They have their ways."

"Can I be there?" Hamish asked eagerly. "I want to be there when she comes." Sherlock chuckled and stroke his soft hair, not ready to deny his wishes but a small boy couldn't be there to witness a delivery, how curious he even was.

"I'm sorry Hamish. But it's daddies and papas only." he answered and Hamish gave him a disappointed pout. "How much I would even like to have you there, you wouldn't be allowed by the doctors and nurses." The boy nodded and then placed his head upon the bump and listened. He loved the sound of tapping and clicking and needed to hear it everyday, so Sherlock kept him there.

"Here." he said and took his hand and pressed it his side. "That's a hard one."

"Hi baby!" Hamish called into his skin and pulled up his shirt to kiss his skin. "You need to come put soon! Daddy's having a hard time getting out of bed now. You're getting to big!"

"One more month, handsome." Sherlock promised. "Then you'll hold her."

"I wanna hold her now." he sighed and poked where the baby had kicked, trying to annoy it to do it again. Then she made a nauseating barrel roll and Sherlock gasped and straightened his back to give her as much room as possible.

"You're only causing problems, baby." Hamish lectured and rubbed the bump. "You need to be calm in there."  
"No point." Sherlock smiled. "She's always active." When everything started to calm inside him he let go of a big breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, the cot."

* * *

Then he entered the ninth month and he hadn't left the house for weeks. Not stepped into anything else than his pyjama pants and a stretched out old t-shirt with his gown hanging open. The weather was hot, but bearable and John was always kind to pick up ice cream from the store as the craving struck.

Every morning Hamish ran down the stairs, ready to see a newborn baby in the house and always disappointed when he saw that Sherlock's big bump was still there. He even had a fit of rage one day, reminding Sherlock of himself in young years when he had to be patient. John was good at calming him though, telling him what an unpredictable business pregnancies were but Hamish didn't want to understand. He wanted his sister but of course the baby decided to take her time.

He was two days over due when he went to bed with an odd feeling in his stomach. The skin around his bump felt overly stretched and the baby was very calm, only giving a small kick once and awhile to his lungs while her head was tucked to his pelvis, ready to be born. He didn't sleep much that night. It was like he was twitching with energy, more than he'd felt in months and he tossed and turned in the bed with John lying on his stomach beside him.

He started to get enough as the sun started to rise and he flung his feet over the side and sat there for many minutes, stroking and rubbing his stomach. Today was the day, he could tell and he heaved himself up from the bed to take a walk in the flat. A walk might get things started, he thought and waddled out of he bedroom to grab a glass of juice when he felt a dull pain start in his abdomen. Not strong or very painful, just preparing him for what was about to happen and he sighed in relief.

Soon this madness would come to an end. At last.

The journey continued out in the sitting room, a lap around the side table and back into the kitchen. An hour later the contractions started to get regular and he tossed a glance at the clock on the mantle piece. Every eleventh minute it gripped around him but he managed to keep on walking and kept relaxed.

Then he heard the soft steps down the stairs and he sighed loudly when he realised how this day would work out. Hamish needed someone to babysit him, he and John needed to go to the hospital because home deliveries was frightening and he could kill for some dark chocolate at the moment.

"Dad?" Hamish croaked and rubbed his eyes. "You're up early." An contraction stroke before he could answer, a strong one and he rode it out by swaying on his heals.  
"Yeah." he murmured and fought hard not to grimace as it peaked. "I'll go wake papa up, watch some telly for a moment." He waddled quickly out of the sitting room, through the kitchen and into the bedroom where John was nuzzling his pillow. Sherlock envied him and gave his head a swat. "John?" The doctor groaned and buried himself deeper in the bed. "John!" With a small twitched he turned his head to face him, eyes swollen and hair messy.

"What?" he croaked and Sherlock sighed.

"Labour." he answered shortly and his husband's eyes grew comically.

"Now?" he asked and rolled over on his back. Sherlock nodded and pressed a hand to the small of his back.

"Eleven minutes. We need to get Hamish to Greg. It's been progressing quickly." With those words John tossed himself out of bed and reached for his phone, ready to make the call to get Hamish out of the house so he didn't have to witness his dad go through pain. But Sherlock shook his head. "No, take him there yourself. It's a half hour ride. I'll make it that long." To beg Greg pick Hamish would leave them with to much time together and Sherlock didn't know how many contraction he'd left before he started to whine and vocalise.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat.

"Three to four contractions. I can handle it. Call Greg, tell him you're coming."

* * *

Hamish was to tired to protest when John gathered his things and brought him out the door to grab a taxi and Sherlock wobbled back and forth on his feet while standing in the kitchen, arms braised to the counter as the contractions hit. At the same time he tried to eat some breakfast, just anything to give him energy and he swallowed the milk and toast with a glass at the side filled with juice. It wasn't easy when muscles spasmed around him but he knew it was for the best.

Suddenly he was down at seven and the pains was getting longer. He groaned and curled around his bump, whimpered silently and showed his breakfast to the side, making himself ready to move. He didn't remember it hurt this much. He waddled out to the sitting room, paced the floor and kept a sharp eye on the clock. Where the hell was John? It hag been forty-five minutes and the contraction were getting closer. Seven minutes already, they needed to go.

Then a very strong one hit him and he hummed with closed eyes and leaned to the wall, rocked his hips and did his best to breath through it. Six. For christ's sake, he needed John. Then he heard the door downstairs open and close and soon someone running up the stairs. He heaved himself up and pressed both his hands to the small of his back and waddled as quick as he could out to the hallway to meet John up. The doctor caught him before taking the first step down the stairs and cupped his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he saw the sweat on his brow and shaking limbs. "Have you got the bag?"

"No time." he whimpered and swallowed thickly. "We need to go. They're getting close." John took a deep nervous breath and rubbed a soft hand over his hip.

"Okay, but we need the bag." he said and ran cross him. "Two seconds!" The pregnant man groaned and braised himself to the railing He hated these pains, but thinking about what it would give him made them bearable and that gave him new strengths. But they needed to go.

"John!" His doctor came back in a hurry and wound a arm around his back and Sherlock grabbed a hold of his shoulder to keep balance.

"Careful now." he murmured and held him tight as they walked down the seventeen steps. It was torture. Pure and utter hell. Hips ached and ground against the baby and he fought hard not to whine for each time he moved. "It's okay, we're almost down."

"Did you hold the cab?" he asked and suddenly realised he was still in his pyjamas. This wasn't the time to care about clothes, he just needed to get to the hospital right now.

"Yes, it's right outside." John answered him and they walked carefully down the corridor and out of the door. It was still early, most people of Baker street was still in bed and the weather was moist and cold, just perfect for the labouring man. Another pain hit just as John opened the door to the cab and his knees almost buckled. He stumbled forward and leaned against the car with a painful whimper. Finally John was here to take care of him, he pressed his hand against his back and rubbed big circles. "You're doing great, love. How many minutes?"

"Six." he moaned and took a deep breath, almost smashing his face to the car in pain.

The ride to Bart's was horrible. The small space making it impossible to move around in different positions trapped him on his knees hugging the headrest while whimpering in pain. It wasn't only the car that was going fast, the contractions was closing in on five and giving more and more pressure to his pelvis. But he kept quiet, clenched his jaw every time he thought he might cry out and took deep breaths to relax. And John was there, rubbing and petting everywhere it hurt and did his best to keep his mood up.

"Jesus.." he trembled and pressed his forehead to the headrest. "This is gonna be quick."

"Let's hope you're that lucky." John smiled and kissed his cheek. "Did you manage to eat anything while I was gone?" He nodded and opened his eyes again.

"Half a toast, some juice and milk." he croaked. "I couldn't really get down more than that." John smiled and caressed his neck, told him that it was good enough as they reached the hospital.

* * *

Sherlock was as always very stubborn. First of all he hated hospitals, well more the nurses and doctors to be precise. They were idiots-in-rubber-shoes as he so nicely put it as he refused to sit down in the wheelchair that a nurse so kindly offered. He could walk, he wouldn't let the pains make him useless so easily. But walking was hard in this state, he needed John to lean against and in the elevator a contraction so bad hit him that he for the first time cried out. John gathered him in his arms and rocked with him as he breathed through it, softly humming with him as the nurse rubbed his back, John wasn't surprised when he sneered her off. She wasn't allowed to touch him, only John's hands had the privilege to do that.

The elevator came to a stop and the contraction started to ease as the doors slide open and John could hear the cries of women and wailing babies down the hall, he wished they'd done this at home just like last time. But Sherlock refused, he remembered the birth pains since last time and this time he wanted a different help from his husband. He wanted to be in his arms as this happened and not leaning against Greg's bulky chest. No, he wanted to be in John's muscular arms and feel his breaths to his skin as he went through this hateful thing just to bring a human to the world. Where exactly in evolution did it go wrong, he would like to know.

John helped him into the room and Sherlock hurried to the bed by the first sight of it, braised his elbows to the mattress and curled around his bump and let some weight off his knees. It didn't really help, it was still awful. It was time consuming, unpredictable, exhausting and above all hard. But as John closed in on him, wrapped his arms around his chest and pressed himself close to his back, rocked with him, he also found it romantic. Having a baby with the man he loved was worth all this, and not to speak about the outcome. Soon those fantasies would come true and he would bury his nose in velvety hair, smell that new-baby-smell and play with those little hands and feet. He did not regret the decision to getting into this again.

Then he felt hands undress him and he broke the concentration from the labour and opened his eyes. John was helping him off with the stretched t-shirt and pulled a hospital gown over his head. Then turned to his trousers and pulled them down with his underwear. He felt like a despicable old man from a nursing home but realised he would never be able to do it himself right now. God did it feel good to be taken care of right now.

"Sherlock?" John asked and pressed himself to his back once more. "D'you want to lie down?" He was just going to say no when he cried out in pain again. The contraction rippling through his body and squeezing tight around his stomach and John set them into rocking again to help the power of gravity. "Okay, you're down on four."

Strong arms held him up as the contraction peaked and knees buckled, but he managed to keep control, not breaking his concentration.

"Would you like to try some nitrous oxide?" the nurse asked. She had presented herself with a name but neither John or Sherlock had listened, she was now called 'the nurse'.

Sherlock, who had decided not to fall into any sort of help from the pain found himself nodding. Gas wasn't that bad and it would not trigger his old addictions, he knew that well and John didn't seem to protest from his side even if this wasn't their birth-plan, he just didn't want to see Sherlock in this much pain.

The nurse told them to feel free to rearrange the room as much as they wanted and soon John and Sherlock had built themselves a nest on the floor with one of the mattresses and all of the pillows. The detective laid on his back with his head heavy in John's lap, breathing in the gas during the long contractions while John tickled his scalp and held his hand. Oh what miracles that gas did. The pain dampened with every breath and left it with just a dull sensation and John had to beg him to repeat the sentences he spoke, they were just slurs of words while Sherlock thought he made himself perfectly clear.  
"..dnt en no y I red to o is gan." he slurred and John laughed from above him and stroke a hand down his chest.

"What's that love?" he asked and saw Sherlock opening his eyes to give him a foggy look and squeezed the mask in his hand as he rested. He took a deep breath.

"I don't even know why I agreed to do this again." he said again and swallowed thickly and closed his eyes again.

"Agreed?" John chuckled. "It was your idea from the beginning."

"I remember no such thing." he sighed and started to tense up again. He pressed the mask over his mouth and nose and took deep breaths and tried not to notice the woman who was poking between his legs again. As long as they did their job and not touching him in any other way he was okay with it.

"Well Sherlock." the midwife smiled and rubbed his knee. "You're getting there. Seven centimetres. There should be a baby within the next two hours if you continue to progress this quickly."

It had been no more than five hours since he stepped out of bed. This child would certainly have her ways of being impatient in the future, he could tell. But above all this process was about to get more intense. The pain rippled through him constantly and he tried to turn over on his side to ease the pain to his back. He didn't know when or how, but suddenly he stood on hand and knees on the mattress. John's strong hands were rubbing his sides, back and bump and held the mask to his face when he needed it.

The doctor smothered the wet curls and watched with a loving smile as his husband fought to bring their second child into the world. It was very different to witness it from this angle, being the one to bring comfort and support and not checking progress and feel fright and worry of doing something wrong. He felt a greater closeness like this, to be able to hold Sherlock, kiss his face and neck and feel how his muscles worked.

Sherlock started to whine and moan continuously, head hanging between his shoulders and limbs shaking. He was amazed how deep Sherlock had gone into trance, how deep he could concentrate on his mission and not letting the outside world interfere. Nothing else was as important as his baby.

"Maybe we should break his water." the midwife said as she prepared with towels and tools.

"He doesn't want any interferences." John answered and shook his head. "Not until it's absolutely necessary." The midwife just nodded and Sherlock's whimpers and whines continued for an half hour more while John cared for him deeply. The nurses complimented on how well the detective was doing as they changed his IV and the midwife informed John that they were now on nine centimetres when Sherlock gave a short grunt and tensed his body.

"I need to push." he croaked and it was the first time in an hour that he spoke.

"Not yet." John whispered and placed the mask aside. "Just a few minutes more."

As those minutes past John and the midwife helped the poor detective in his knees and placed his arms around the doctor's neck. John held him and felt how the big bump took up the place between them for the last time.

"I want to push." he groaned and pulled John down with his weight. He cried out and blinked in confusion. "Please."

"You're almost there, love. Just a few more minutes."

Sherlock was finally back amongst them, still in concentration but not as deep and without a warning he bore down with a small push. "I can't help it."

"Okay Sherlock." the midwife sheered. "Let's get this started. Start to push and tell me if you want me break the water."

"Break it." Sherlock moaned without doubt and buried his face to the nape of his husband's neck. "Please."

As he continued to bare down, finally seeing an end to it all, the midwife brought forward the small hook and positioned herself behind the labouring man. Not before long the clear fluids gushed down on the collected towels and Sherlock groaned in relief as the pressure released him for a second, he could finally take a breather. His husband and the midwife cheered as he continued, spoke soft words and rubbed everywhere they could reach and Sherlock didn't have the energy to care that the woman had her hands on him. Her warm hand just felt so good on his thighs and shins.

But dear sweet lord, the pressure. It was unbearable. And just as he thought it could get any worser the pain turned into fire in his pelvis and he heard himself pray for painkillers even if he was beyond that step. He called out for John even if he was nearly melted together with him and his husband kept reminding him of the reward and the look on Hamish's face as he would get to see his little sister or brother for the first time. How quickly he would forget about the pain when he finally had that little warm bundle in his arms and Sherlock pushed. Every ounce left of energy was collected and used

Then the baby crowned and Sherlock couldn't help the scream escaping his lips. Tears fell freely down his cheeks and stained John's shirt. This was the worst of pains. The mightiest feeling of fright and excitement. It popped free and he shouted in short relief, flailing his arms to get a new grip around John's shoulders when he remembered what came next. Hopefully this baby wouldn't have as sharp shoulders as him.

"I want to feel her." he whimpered and John swallowed his tears. "Please." The doctor took his hand and traced them down his inflated bump and in between his legs were the head hung and together they caressed the small features blindly. A small snub nose, plump lips and chubby cheeks. But the most beautiful thing of it all came when they touched the wet hair. Curls. John sobbed and kissed Sherlock's temple with all the excitement and love a kiss could possibly contain, took his hand in his as the midwife told him to push again. Right now their baby was half way into the world and halfway still in the womb of creation. The power and magic behind it sent chills down his spine and he couldn't help his smile even if Sherlock cried out in pain as the shoulders started to emerge.

With a massive yell the baby was finally free, lying on the many towels behind Sherlock and being cleaned and stimulated until it cried out in pure anger of being so violently evicted from the only home it knew. John kept his eyes closed, he didn't want to see the baby before Sherlock. He had been the one carrying this creature for nine months, gone through six hours of hell, it was only fair that he was the one to greet their little child.

"Hello baby." the midwife cheered. "Welcome to the great big world. Let's see if daddy can turn around for you.

Still panting the detective lifted his head from John's shoulder. He was a mess but John had never seen him so beautiful. Energy well spent on his mission and soaked in sweat and tears and John pressed a loving kiss to his lips.  
"Well done." he murmured and sniffled. "You brilliant man." He helped Sherlock to turn in his arms and braised him up against his chest and that was the first time they laid their eyes upon their little baby. The midwife placed it carefully upon Sherlock's chest and the detective wound his arms around the tiny body with face all wrinkled up as it cried.

"Oh.." he whimpered and touched the dark curls on the head. "Look at you.." Both parents, nervous and in ecstasy, unfolded the towel and noticed something that would make their little boy at home cry of happiness.

"It's a little girl." John cried and cradled them both tight in his arms. "It's a tiny girl!" Sherlock demanded his jaw to stop trembling as he observed the little girl in his arms with puffy cheeks and lips, arms and legs flailing and screaming in anger and fear. She was beautiful in every way.

"Hi." he whimpered and smiled weakly. "There you are."

The midwife worked quickly, tied the cord and clamped it before reaching out a pair of scissors. Once again John had the honour to cut what held father and daughter together the girl was on her own support. Both fathers swaddled her in a clean towel and she slowly started to calm down as she nuzzled Sherlock's still heaving chest. She coed angrily to his skin as her eyes started to flutter open. Blue, dark blue, she'd gotten John's eyes.

Her papa chuckled behind the sob and pressed his lips to Sherlock's temple as he rocked them back and forth. To say he was amazed was an understatement, he was sure that there weren't any english word that could explain exactly how he felt. The feeling was marvellous, a mix of pride, joy, ecstasy, completeness and a small ounce of fear. Who knew what Baker street would turn into when she got there.

Sherlock wiped her head with the towel and just stared, he didn't know which words to speak. She was a beautiful child, those eyes and curls would certainly make her breathtaking in the future. He traced a shaking finger across her face, touched her little nose and chin, circled her soft ear before he took her little hand. So small, so incredibly tiny and fragile and he started to see the resemblances between her and her brother.

"Jesus christ." he sighed suddenly and let his head loll back to John's muscular shoulder. "We've got her."

"The baby Sherlock Holmes couldn't refuse." John giggled and stroke his fingers over the curls on the girls head. "What are we going to name her?"

During the seven months they'd known about her, Hamish had been throwing names at them daily. Mostly names from characters from his favourite movie or book so everything between Rapunzel and Gretel had been suggested. Sherlock and John on the other hand hadn't really thought of it since Hamish seemed to be doing most of the work.

"Are we going to continue our family with odd names?" the doctor continued. "Let the Holmes' siblings and spawn carry on the tradition?" Sherlock smiled and scooted the child a little closer to his neck, hear her coo as she started to drift off into sleep.

"I believe we should." he said and cradled her little head. "It's a privilege to have an unusual name."

They sat quiet for some seconds, thinking about names that would fit the small girls sleeping in Sherlock's arms. The small hands was grasping the air and the detective let her wound it around his finger. Her lips circled the tip of his pinky and she nursed on it quietly while Sherlock felt the tears fall again.

"The Goddess of dawn." he whispered and smiled.

"What?" John murmured and rubbed his arm as the midwife continued to work between his husband's shaking legs.

"There's one character Hamish have suggested that I might be able to accept." Sherlock continued and chuckled when he realised how much it fit her. "Sleeping beauty." The doctor laughed and watched their child that so perfectly fit the description.

"I hope you mean her real name and not the title." he said and Sherlock sniffled while tears continued to fall.

"Of course I do." he cried and bowed his head to press the first kiss to her forehead and hand. "It's quite fitting, isn't it?" They both thought about the name for a few seconds more, tasted it in their minds and finally came to a silent agreement what to name their daughter.

"Hamish will be thrilled." John smiled and couldn't wait to see his face when he saw his baby sister for the first time. He would be in complete and utter aw.

"I expect so." Sherlock answered him and looked down on their Sleeping beauty and didn't let go.

* * *

Sherlock and the girl was both swaddled in the soft bed, both cleaned and in new clothes and John made the call to the proud brother who was probably head over heals at his uncle, high on sugar and expectations. He called Greg's phone and after just one signal someone picked and the loud voice of their son would make his ears ring for hours to come. John had never heard him so eager, shouting and cheering but John kept quiet if hit was a sister or brother, told him to get here to see them. Less than a second later Greg spoke and told him how Hamish just ran to the hallway to put on his shoes. Then the both of them were on them were on their way and John turned to Sherlock who rested with his head on his shoulder while feeding their little girl with the warm bottle.

"Hamish's on his way?" the father asked tiredly without taking his eyes of the girl.

"Any time now." John answered and caressed the velvety curls on her head, sighed happily and saw how she blinked at them both. She looked sceptical, like this wasn't the parents she expected or like she pondered hard about her surroundings. Everything was new to her and Sherlock was sure she was infected by his curiosity, always hungering for new information. She let go of the bottle and made a soft sound in his arms.

"You full?" he asked and discarded the empty bottle. "Was that good?"

They were already back in old tracks and did everything on autopilot. Feeding, burping, changing and cuddling. The girls seemed pleased with all the attention and didn't make any more sounds that the small cooing and nuzzling. Sherlock got some well deserved lunch and John sipped on a cup of coffee as the girl slept for a while in her cot. But she didn't lay there for long before John picked her up and cradled her close. She wasn't allowed to have a single second to herself before someone was there to cuddle, she didn't complain though. He couldn't stop stroking her hair, it adorned her head so wonderfully and he found himself sighing continuously.

"She's so beautiful, Sherlock." he murmured as his husband drank his first cup of coffee in six months. "She takes after you."

"Hopefully she wont be as tall as me." the detective said and pushed the tray-table aside. "Maybe she'll be as short as you. Someone for you to share the problems with not reaching the top shelves at the supermarket." John laughed and made his way over to the bed to place the girl in Sherlock's arms again when a soft knock was heard on the door. John tore his gaze from the girl and looked up at the door that slowly slid open and Greg stuck his head in.

"Hello." he smiled and stepped in with and eager Hamish not far behind. The boy released his hand and ran into the room as quick as he could and jumped up in John's arms and his father held him tightly, kissed his cheeks and took a deep breath of his smell. To be honest he had never been so happy to see him.

"Papa!" he beamed and wound his arms around his neck. "I wanna see her."

"Of course." John murmured and took him over to the bed where Sherlock. "But no shouting, she might get scared." The boy went silent when he saw the bundle in Sherlock's arms and he gasped. Sherlock had never seen his son like this. He was in awe and eyes big and glittering.

"Hi Hamish." he smiled and made room for him in the bed and the boy crawled up close to him. "Look who decided to show up." He unfolded the blanket and another gasp was uttered as Hamish saw the girl.

"She's tiny!" he squeaked and held on tight to Sherlock's arms. "Dad, she's got your hair."

"I know." Sherlock chuckled and took her little hand. "Isn't she beautiful?" There was no answer and the detective looked up at his son to see his amazed face.

"She's pretty." he answered and reached out to stroke her hair. "She's so soft!"

"She is, isn't she?" John smiled and pressed his lips to the crown on Hamish's hair. "Look how small hands and feet she has." Hamish looked and giggled happily.

"She's like a doll." he smiled and and played with the little foot. "She's amazing. What's her name?"

John smiled and held his arms around his boy, caressing his arms and sighed.

"We took one of the names you suggested." he murmured and Hamish was about to burst with excitement with those words and he gasped a third time.

"Which one? Marion? Belle? Coral?" The names continued and Sherlock hushed him gently and put an arm around him.

"No." he murmured. "She's named after Sleeping beauty." The boy beamed when he realised which name they'd picked and he crawled as close as possible and pressed his lips to the girls nose.  
"Hello Aurora, I'm your brother Hamish." he greeted proudly and caressed her little cheek when she started to coo again. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at Hamish with her deep blue eyes, making the boy shiver. "You're beautiful, Aurora." The baby squirmed and brought he little hand to her mouth, sucked hard on two of her fingers.

"Do you want to hold her?" Sherlock asked and Hamish twitched where he sat.

"Can I?"

"Of course." John smiled and lifted him up in his arms and placed himself beside Sherlock. "I'm gonna help you, okay? So you don't drop her." Sherlock rearranged himself in the bed an carefully placed the small bundle in Hamish's arms and the new brother nearly melted as he held the little baby for the first time. He cradled her close while John helped him find the right grip.

"There you go." John smiled and remover his hands from his arms. He was now holding her all by himself and Sherlock had never seen him so proud. He was absolutely glowing and that smile would warm his fathers' hearts for ages to come. That's when they heard the voice of the forgotten Greg by the door.

"D'you have a camera or something? I'm telling you, these are the moments you don't want to forget." John absolutely beamed and waved him over. The DI sneaked silently to the bed and leaned over the small boy to see the little girl in his arms. He lightened up when he laid eyes upon her and sighed.

"Hello little one." he chirped and reached out to touch her little hand. "You look much like your daddy, don't you?"

Hamish looked up from his sister at Sherlock and blinked like the innocent boy he was, nibbling his lip and giggling.

"She's so pretty, daddy." he smiled and leaned back to John's chest, took a deep breath and sighed in joy. "When can she come home?"

"Tomorrow morning." Sherlock answered and played with his hair while stroking Aurora's cheek. "Then we have her all to our self."

* * *

**There, tell me what you think and if you want more :) This was fun, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I might just continue.**

**And yeah, I know the baby has the same name as my username on this site, it's because I just love that name and might just call my own daughter that if I ever have one. **


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